
SUNDAY- S 
STORI 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf.. / 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 



"En Jiffs Name/' 



Sunday-School Stories 

ON 

C^e <0oiuen Cejctss 

OF 

THE INTERNATIONAL LESSONS 
OF 1889. 

SECOND PART. 

By EDWARD E. HALE, 

AUTHOR OF "IN HIS NAME," " TEN TIMES ONE IS TEN," " HIS LEVEL 
BEST," "THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY," ETC. 




BOSTON: 
ROBERTS BROTHERS 




155 



Copyright, 1889, 
By Roberts Brothers. 



ranibersfts press : 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



PREFACE. 



'THHIS is the second series of stories upon the 
■*■ Golden Texts of the International Series of 
Sunday-school Lessons. As has been explained in 
the first volume, the stories were written by a 
" Ten," — as we say in the Wadsworth Clubs, — con- 
sisting of myself, my sisters, and my children. In 
this volume we have the assistance of Miss Eliza- 
beth Orne White, who is so well-known to young 
readers, and in both volumes of Mrs. Bernard Whit- 
man, the secretary of the central organization of the 
Lend-a-Hand Clubs. 

The first series was cordially received by teachers 
and others ; but the suggestion was at once made 
to us that for many of the younger classes a series 
of simpler stories was needed, as ours would be 
thought too mature for infant minds. My sister, 
Lucretia P. Hale, and Mrs. Whitman, have met 



VI PEEFACE. 

this necessity in another volume, which is also 
published by Eoberts Brothers. 

These volumes are all affectionately dedicated to 
the young people of the Sunday-schools of England 
and America, with every prayer for their welfare. 

EDWAKD E. HALE. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

First Sunday in July 1 

Second Sunday in July 13 

Third Sunday in July 27 

Fourth Sunday in July 39 

First Sunday in August 51 

Second Sunday in August 65 

Third Sunday in August 77 

Fourth Sunday in August 91 

First Sunday in September 103 

Second Sunday in September 113 

Third Sunday in September 121 

Fourth Sunday in September 133 

Fifth Sunday in September 147 

First Sunday in October 157 

Second Sunday in October 169 

Third Sunday in October 179 

Fourth Sunday in October 193 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Page 

First Sunday in November 211 

Second Sunday in November 221 

Third Sunday in November 231 

Fourth Sunday in November 245 

First Sunday in December 253 

Second Sunday in December 269 

Third Sunday in December ........ 279 

Fourth Sunday in December 289 

Last Sunday in the Year 301 



Sunday-School Stories. 



CHAPTEE III. 
STUDIES IN THE FIRST BOOK OF SAMUEL. 



First Sunday in July. 

"Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth" 

WHEN" my father went up to the Feast of the 
Tabernacles at Shiloh he always took me 
with him, even when I was but a little maid, so 
that I might see my brother, as he ministered to 
the Lord there. For as, after him, I was the eldest 
of my mother's children, my parents wished that 
we might see each other at least on the feast-days ; 
and though I was only a maiden, and he, as has 
been shown, grew to something more than common 
men, yet we loved each other much. On the year 
I am telling of, my youngest sister was so young 
and tender a child that my mother could not leave 
her at home, nor yet carry her on the rough journey. 
This was a grief to her, because it was the first 
time, since she had weaned my eldest brother and 
taken him to Shiloh to give him to the Lord, that 
l 



Z SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

she had missed going to the feast with my father 
to offer the yearly sacrifice, and to see her son, and 
to bring him the little mantle which she made him 
every year. So she said to me that this year I must 
take her place and make the offering for her, and 
pray for her ; and she said, " Would to God, Hannah, 
that your prayer might work as mightily as mine 
did, for the Eternal heard me, though I only prayed 
in my heart ! " She also said that I was to carry 
my brother the mantle in her stead : and that though 
I was so young, I must watch well how he fared, 
and inquire as to his lodging and his raiment. Of 
all this, being but a child, I thought far more than 
of what she said of prayer and sacrifice ; for as yet I 
could not well understand how a little maid like me 
could pray to the great God in heaven. 

So we started for Shiloh, a great company ; but 
my father kept me close by his side all the way, 
and before me, on the little ass he had trained for 
me, so that I was not afraid to ride it, was the 
mantle which I had seen my mother spin and weave 
for my dear brother. 

We had not travelled long before one of our 
neighbors joined us; and though he rode on my 
father's other side, and I could not hear all they 
said, still I heard some strange things. The neigh- 
bor seemed to be solemnly wishing my father joy 
of something that had happened ; and my father 
wondered much, and said, "Then it is the Lord's 



SPEAK, LORD, FOE THY SERVANT HEARETH. 3 

doing;" and for a while he said nothing more. 
The neighbor went on to speak, as I thought, of my 
brother ; and he said, " Your son was in favor with 
all the people who go up to Shiloh, but now you see 
the Lord's favor is upon him, too ; he will be a 
great seer, a man of God." At this I should have 
been glad to hear more, but my father, seeing that 
I was listening, told his friend to have a care how 
he spoke before so many ; so they went on, speaking 
low. After the neighbor had left us, I boldly asked 
my father of what he had said ; for he was always 
very gentle with me, because I bore my mother's 
name. He looked troubled, and yet had a sort of 
gladness in his face. He said in few words that it 
was said the Eternal had spoken to my brother, and 
given him a message for the high-priest ; but that 
for his part he could not easily believe such a thing, 
because, as all Israel knew, the word of the Lord 
came rarely to men now, and there was no open 
vision. " I think, indeed," he went on, to one of 
my half-brothers, who rode near, " that it is more 
like that the high-priest should have had a message 
from the Lord for my son ; and yet what our neigh- 
bor told me of the message is as if the word came 
to your brother." But when I asked what the mes- 
sage was, my father told me it was not for young 
children like me to hear. And my half-brother, who 
was kind and good to me, though so much older, 
told me he would lead my ass by a cross-path where 



4 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

some wild grapes grew, and meet the others quickly. 
And so we did, and I forgot what my father and 
the neighbor had said. 

When we came to Shiloh, which is now torn down 
to the ground, it was a great town full of people, 
and fuller than ever in this feast-time, and the 
streets were full of green bowers ; and in it, as 1 
have often told my dear children, the great Tent of 
the Congregation was resting after its long journeys ; 
but it was stayed and covered with stones, so that 
it was like a house, and many called it, indeed, the 
Temple. All around it houses were built, and in 
one of them we were to lodge, with a near kinsman 
of my father, who was a Levite. But I could not 
endure to get down from my ass, though I was very 
weary from the day's journey, so much I longed to 
see my brother ; and I left my father so little peace 
that he took my ass by the bridle and walked up 
the street toward the gates of the Tent. 

I should be glad to see those gates now, with 
the altar which stood there, but then my heart 
was full of something else. And when there 
came out, from a little wicket close by them, a 
boy in a long white garment, with thick long hair 
waving far down, which at this time was bright 
with the setting sun, I was so full of joy that I 
cried to him from my ass, and wept and laughed at 
once, and thought not of the Tent any more ; and 
he laughed too, and ran to us; and though he 



SPEAK, LORD, FOR THY SERVANT HEARETH. 5 

stopped to kneel down that my father might 
bless him, I was the first that he kissed and 
embraced. 

So we went back to our kinsman's house, and I 
put the new mantle on my brother ; and he was 
glad of it, and took pride in it because our mother 
had made it, but he was very sorry that she could 
not come. " For," said he, " I had many things to 
say to her, and many questions to ask." And 
when I said she had told me to stand in her place 
and be like a mother to him, he said he knew I 
would be a kind little mother indeed, as to his rai- 
ment, and the dressing of his long hair for the sac- 
rifice to-morrow, but that he wished for something 
more still. Then I remembered that she had told 
me to pray for her before the Lord ; and I asked 
him to take me to the Tent, so that I could pray as 
she had done. And he said, "We will pray, in- 
deed, little sister; but the Tent, to-night, is no 
place for maids. To-morrow, after the sacrifice, we 
will walk together as I watch the sheep, and then 
we will cry to the Lord." 

The next morning my father made his sacrifice 
at the gates of the Tent, as his custom was ; and he 
gave portions to all of us children, and to me he 
gave my mother's portion as well as my own. But 
though I was proud of this, I was afraid at the 
priests, the sons of Eli the high-priest ; for their 
faces looked strange and wicked to me, and indeed 



6 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

I could see that my father loved them not ; for he 
was ill pleased with their doings, — their snatch- 
ings at the sacrifice for their own tables, and other 
evil things they did. He did not ask them to 
bless his children, as one of them offered to do, but 
told him it was his custom to go to the high-priest 
for that, who had been as a father to him and his 
wife Hannah. At this the young priest, whose 
name was Phinehas, laughed aloud, and said some- 
thing scornful as to a blind man's blessing ; and he 
went his way, looking to see that his servants took 
enough of the Lord's offerings to satisfy him and 
his wicked brother. But my father took us to the 
high-priest, who was sitting on his seat at the 
door-post of the Lord's house, arrayed in his beau- 
tiful garments, — gold, and blue, and purple, and 
scarlet, and fine-twined linen ; and I loved to look 
upon him as he sat there on the feast-days ; but he 
could not well see us, for his eyes were waxing dim 
because of his great age. And he blessed us all 
there, my brother guiding his hands and laying 
them on our heads. And last of all, when my 
brother knelt before him and would have set his 
hand upon his own head, the high-priest said, 
" God has already blessed thee, my son, with a 
greater blessing than I can give ; but may He give 
thee a strong arm to serve Him, and a quick ear to 
hear, and a happier old age than mine is, if my 
prayer may prevail." 



SPEAK, LORD, FOR THY SERVANT HEARETH. 7 

After this my father would not let us stay at the 
gates of the Tent, for he said the wicked men of 
worthlessness were there; so we departed to our 
kinsman's house, and kept the feast under a green 
bower in the street before it. After we had eaten 
and drunk, each went where it best pleased him ; 
and my cousins would have had me go into the vine- 
yards to dance with them, as the maids of Shiloh 
loved to do. But I remembered that my brother 
had promised to take me with him when he went 
to watch the high-priest's sheep ; so I put him in 
mind of that, and we went out together. 

The shepherd was glad to see us come, as he had 
his own sacrifice to make before the Lord, and my 
brother had promised to stay with the flock while 
he should be gone. So it was not long before we 
two were alone on the hills outside the town ; and 
as the sheep were not much scattered that day, we 
had not far to go before my brother knew where 
they all were, and we could sit down on a stone on 
a high hill, to watch if they strayed. As we looked 
out over the vineyards, I made my brother tell me 
once more, as he had often done before, how, when 
Samson the judge came to the vineyards of Tim- 
nath. a young lion roared against him, and how he 
rent him as he would have rent a kid, when he had 
nothing in his hand. We both had always loved 
the stories of Samson, — the more because my 
brother was a long-haired Nazarite like him ; and 



8 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

we had been used, in the manner of children, to 
think that my brother's life should be like his, and 
that he should be such another. When on this 
day I said something of this to my brother, he told 
me that now he did not long to be like Samson any 
more. 

" But, brother," I cried, wondering, " would you 
not like to be a judge over Israel, like him ? " 

" I should like well to judge Israel, but not like 
him." said my brother. 

"Then you would like to be a judge like the 
high-priest Eli," said I, in my foolishness ; " but, 
brother, you cannot be a priest like him ; we are 
not Aaron's children. I wish we were ! " and I 
fear I was thinking, as I spoke, of the beautiful 
coverings of purple and blue and scarlet we had 
seen that morning. 

" No," said my brother, " I can never be a priest; 
I used to wish for that sometimes, but now I do 
not. The greatest of all judges of Israel was no 
priest." 

I knew he meant Moses, who led our people out 
of Egypt ; and how I know not, but all at once I 
remembered our neighbor's talk with our father; 
and like a child as I was, I asked a question I 
never should have asked. " Brother ! " I cried, 
" did God really speak to you ? " 

My brother turned away his face and said 
nothing. 



SPEAK, LORD, FOR THY SERVANT IIEARETH. 9 

" Did He speak to you as He did to Moses ? " I 
went on. 

" Yes, but not as He did to Moses ; it was another 
message," said my brother. 

When I heard this I was full of fear ; I held my 
brother's hand tight, and yet I was afraid of him 
too. All the vineyards and the pleasant fields 
around Shiloh looked pleasant to me no more. 
" Oh, brother ! " I said at last, " how dreadful to 
have the great God speak to you ! Are you not 
afraid He will speak to you again ? " 

" I hope He will ! " said my brother. 

" But, brother," I went on, almost weeping, 
" were you not full of fear when He spoke ? Were 
there not thunders and lightnings, like Mount 
Sinai ? " 

" No," said my brother, and was still for some 
time ; but I began to weep, for in my foolishness 
I began to be afraid that awful voice might speak 
to me. When my brother perceived this, he wiped 
my eyes and kissed me, and told me to be of good 
heart. "For there was nothing dreadful in the 
voice I heard," he said. " I thought at first it was 
the high-priest calling me; and you know his 
voice is full of kindness. I went to him three 
times ; for I thought he had called me, because he 
is old and feeble. But it was not he. And at last 
he knew who it was, and told me to go back and 
wait till the voice came a<min." 

o 



10 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

" And then were yon frightened ? " said I. 

" Yes/' said he ; " bnt when it came again I 
knew I must answer, and after that my fear went 
away." 

" And are you never afraid any more now ? " said 
I. " Do you not wish the messages would come to 
the high-priest, and not to you ? " 

" No," said my brother ; " for now that I know 
the Lord, I would rather be His man than my own 
man, and I would rather hear His voice than any 
voice, — even my mother's or yours." 

" Then He told you something you were glad to 
hear ? " said I. 

" No," said my brother, — " something I was 
sorry to hear. But now that I have once heard 
that voice, I think that I cannot live if I hear it 
not again ; and if some other man were to hear the 
word and tell it to me, though I should be glad of 
the Lord's word, it would not give me the same joy 
as when it comes to me." 

" Then, when that word comes to you, you will 
tell it to all Israel," said I. " Do you think they 
will believe it when you tell it to them ? " 

" I know they will," said my brother. " Or I hope 
they will; for if they do not, great sorrows will 
come upon them." 

"But you would like to be a judge, still," 
said I, " and lead our people against the 
Philistines ? " 



SPEAK, LORD, FOE THY SERVANT HEARETH. 11 

" That I should gladly do," said my "brother ; and 
when he said that, I was the better satisfied, for he 
seemed more as he had been used to be. Now 
evening was drawing on, and we saw the shepherd 
coming back ; so my brother said we would pray to 
God as we had promised. And he prayed in his 
heart, as our mother had done in the Lord's house ; 
only his lips moved. I tried to pray too, both for 
our mother and for him. Then, as we ended, the 
shepherd came and thanked us, and wished us a 
good-night ; and we came down to Shiloh once more, 
and my brother left me in my place, and went to 
his place not far from the lamp of God. And as I 
lay waking, I thought of him and the voice that 
spoke to him there ; and I knew then as well as I 
know it now, that he was to become a great seer, 
and that he was to judge the sons of Israel as none 
had judged them since Moses the man of God died 
and the Lord buried him. 



Second Sunday in July. 

u His sons made themselves vile, and he restrained 
them not." 

THEEE is an old proverb of which I know 
only the first part, which speaks very care- 
lessly of the sons of ministers and the daughters of 
deacons, as likely to turn out to be persons to be 
distrusted, because of their training. I believe that 
this is unjust to a large number of very excellent 
young men and women ; but I remember about a 
minister's son whom I once knew of, and I am go- 
ing to tell about him. It is all a matter of history, 
too, and so may be verified by any one who likes 
to make inquiry as to the matter. 

The Eev. Ezekiel Strong was the pastor of the 
only church in the little village of Benfield, in the 
Province of Maine, from the years 1657 to 1693. 
He was a most excellent man, and much beloved 
by his parishioners and esteemed by his brother 
clergymen. And this was as it should have been, 
because he was a very lovable and a very learned 
man indeed ; being proficient in Greek, Latin, 
and Hebrew, and very largely read in theology 
and philosophy. And not only had he read many 
books, but he had written them too, — great big 



14 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

books and all full of the most weighty divinity. 
These books of his were all on the most abstruse 
subjects ; so that if I were to tell you even the 
names of them you would by no means understand 
them. It was on account of these books that he was 
so highly esteemed by all his brother ministers in 
all New England ; and as he was held in such high 
opinion in the whole country at large, so naturally 
his own people at home were very proud of him. 
Eeuben Stone, who went down to Boston once, 
found to his great satisfaction that the name of 
the Eev. Dr. Strong was well known there ; and 
the fame of their minister was the frequent topic of 
conversation at the village tavern. " By gum ! he 
might be president down to Harvard College," said 
Eeuben, " any day he 'd a mind ter. They 'd just 
jump ter get him ter come." And the others, who 
had not the means of information possessed by Eeu- 
ben, murmured an assent, and pronounced their 
pastor to be one of the most learned divines who 
had ever been graduated from Harvard College ; 
though their expression of this notion was more 
forcible than elegant. 

Nobody could deny that Dr. Strong was a very 
learned man and a very lovable man too ; but for 
all that he was not just the man for Benfield. 
When he had come out there with the earliest set- 
tlers he had been a man of middle age, a student 
rather than a man of action, at this time nearly 



HIS SONS MADE THEMSELVES VILE. 15 

crazed at the loss of his beloved wife, who had 
shared his love with his books, sometimes even 
to the neglect of the latter. So it had been on the 
spur of the moment, as it were, that Dr. Strong had 
gone off with the new settlers. As time went on, 
and settlements had been pushed farther and far- 
ther into the forest, Benfield had become more and 
more civilized, but never really the place for a man 
whose interests came to be more and more in his 
books and less and less with his congregation ; for 
he had always been an absent-minded man, Dr. 
Strong, and now that his wife had gone and his 
books were his only comfort, the habit had in- 
creased upon him, so that often he neglected his 
parish duties decidedly, and at times seemed to 
consider that they were sufficiently fulfilled if he 
preached two sermons a week. The rest of the 
time was given to his books. Perhaps if any one 
else had been at hand during the first few years 
of his ministry at Benfield, he would have left his 
work with the new-comer and returned to the civil- 
ization wherein he might more easily have pursued 
his learned studies. But no one else was conven- 
ient, for Benfield was not a place to attract any one ; 
and after Dr. Strong had been there ten years or so 
his congregation had got so used to him, and he had 
got so used to them, that there could be no thought 
of any change. And we must hasten to say that 
Dr. Strong was as dear and pious a man as could 



16 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

be, even with all his drawbacks. He was most 
plentifully endowed with the love of his Father 
in heaven and affection for his brothers here on 
earth. That was the reason his congregation loved 
as well as respected him. 

Now of Azariah Strong, the son of the minister, 
there is not so much good to be said. Doubtless 
had he had the advantages of a careful home edu- 
cation he might have turned out better. As it was, 
however, he had come out into the wilderness with 
his father, and had thus been cut off from the ad- 
vantages he might still have had in the midst of a 
civilized community. But he was at this time only 
five years of age. For the future, he was deprived 
of a mother's care, and his father, engrossed in his 
books, had not been the man to fill the gap thus 
made. So Azariah had grown up much as things 
happened to turn out. He had been instructed in 
matters of religion, and owing to the methods (or 
rather lack of methods) employed by his father, he 
had grown up, not with a hearty dislike for points 
of doctrine and divinity, but with an absolute in- 
difference to them. Being; bright enough, he could 
repeat his Catechism well ; and with this his father, 
who could not see very far through a millstone, de- 
spite his gold-bowed spectacles, seemed to be well 
contented. For the rest, Azariah grew up much as 
he liked. He did such things as were necessary ; 
but his time was not very fully occupied, and so he 



HIS SONS MADE THEMSELVES VILE. 17 

found occasions to do things that were not only un- 
necessary, but also very unadvisable. Benfield was 
far out on the frontier during his early youth, and its 
inhabitants were as likely to be hunters as farmers. 
The boy passed much of his time in the woods, and 
developed a love of anything wild and free, which 
naturally bred in him a distaste for anything tame 
and confined. So he neglected his studies as he 
grew older, much to his father's grief, and greatly 
tried the patience of that worthy man. Having 
finally acquired enough Latin and Greek, he was 
sent down to Harvard College to be made a minis- 
ter. Here his behavior was deplorable. He was 
always being detected in some riotous proceeding, 
and was often corporeally punished, after the custom 
of those times, for his many misdeeds. But all was 
of no use ; he was unable to pursue his studies to 
their proper end, and so, having been once rusti- 
cated, he was finally sent back to his father's house 
as being a useless encumbrance to the college. 

The good minister's grief at his son's behavior 
was very great. He talked long and often with 
the boy in his grave and serious way, with no re- 
sult whatever. Azariah refused to comply with 
any of his father's demands. He would not study 
any more ; he would not do anything else, either, as 
far as could be found out. For a time he stayed at 
his father's house, spending his time straying about 
the village or roaming through the woods. He 

2 



18 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIE8. 

seemed to have no ambition nor any pride. Finally 
he went away without saying anything to anybody, 
and did not return. 

To Dr. Strong the behavior of his son was a bit- 
ter trial. His son at home was a standing, silent 
disgrace to him ; his running away was a great 
shock and a great grief. The good man reproached 
himself, over and over again, for not having taken 
him sternly in hand while he had been very young, 
and so compelling him to tread the path of rectitude. 
He blamed himself for not having exercised a more 
rigorous supervision over his youthful studies and 
his boyish behavior. He took himself to task for 
not having compelled him to do his duty at college ; 
or at least lastly, when he had appeared at home, 
for not having dealt with him sternly, and making 
it plain to him how necessary it was to follow the 
path of duty. And now he had disappeared, with 
all his misdeeds on his head. 

The good minister humbled himself before his 
congregation, and begged them to pray for him, and 
with him for his erring son. The farmers and in- 
deed the whole village sympathized with his grief, 
and doubtless aided him to the best of their ability 
in the way pointed out. In private, however, or 
rather on any occasion when Dr. Strong was not 
present, they were by no means backward in con- 
demning the proceedings and the character of the 
young man, or in blaming gently the character and 



HIS SONS MADE THEMSELVES VILE. 19 

proceedings of the old. " Thet boy," said Beuben, 
"was a good shot, an' he knew the woods; an' 
thet was about all the good there was to him. He 
was wild ; he was awful wild. He did a good many 
things down to Boston, too, thet Parson Strong 
don't know on." This opinion, delivered by one 
who had been in Boston, was received with due 
appreciation. " To my mind," said Josh Flint, who 
was a serious farmer of fifty, with two daughters, — 
" to my mind the parson shud jest have set the rod 
to him and made him walk the straight line. A 
child hain't no business to have no will of his own. 
It must be broken jest short off the fust thing. I 
knowed at once I saw how thet boy was a-cuttin' 
up how t 'wud be. The parson warnt man enough 
outside his books to pull him up with a round turn, 
an' so he jest went what way he liked, an' we see 
whut 's come of it." " It 's a hard thing to bring up 
a lad 'thout no women-folks about," said JSTehemiah 
Bourne ; " it 's a very hard thing. But I think thet 
the parson should have made it plain to him how 
the way of the Lord ran, and then just V made him 
walk therein. I think he shud 'a' done jest that." 
In fact, the village agreed pretty generally that the 
parson had failed to assert properly the paternal 
position. But it usually ended by the admission 
that "any way Parson Strong was a master hand 
with his books, as every one knows, an' the Lord 
don't always give all his best gifts to one man." 



20 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

Some also held that " the Parson had ought to 'a' 
got married to some smart woman thet wud 'a' made 
Azariah toe the mark, — that 's whut he 'd ought to 
V done." 

All this, however, did not bring back Azariah. 
Nothing brought him back, — that is, not for a 
good many years. It was in 1672 that he ran 
away, and it was not till 1689 that he came back. 
When he did come back, it was as a prodigal son. 
He appeared before his father, ragged, hungry, and 
penniless. His father welcomed him back as one 
from the dead. Seventeen years is a good long 
time. Much fades from the mind in seventeen 
years ; and blood is thicker than water. Dr. 
Strong was overjoyed to see his son again ; Aza- 
riah was the only relative he had left on earth, 
save very distant cousins. The old man thought 
that if everything were forgotten and forgiven, his 
son now might settle down to be the support to his 
declining years ; for he was himself past sixty, and 
had aged fast through overmuch study. So he 
made his son welcome for the first thing, reserving 
for an after moment the discussion of any plans 
for the future. 

Azariah said little to anybody about his past life. 
What he had done since leaving Benfield, where he 
had been, were on the whole matters of mystery. 
He had been in foreign parts, it was judged from 
some words he dropped now and then ; he had led 



HIS SONS MADE THEMSELVES VILE. 21 

no very godly life, it was imagined, more from his 
bearing and way of speaking than anything else. 
He seemed content to pass his time sitting in front 
of his father's house smoking a pipe, or else taking 
a place in the circle at the rude village tavern, 
where he sat for hours, saying almost nothing. 

At the end of about two months' time he van- 
ished again. He carried away various things of 
his father's which could be turned to money, but 
left no word with any one. It was thought that he 
had gone northward through the woods, to make 
for Quebec, — a name which stood in the minds 
of the settlers as a type of evil and wickedness. 
There were congregated the French, who were 
Papists, and the Indians, who were heathen; and 
altogether the place was, to their minds, a lit 
dwelling-place for the Devil himself. 

This brings us to the last part of our narrative. 
Some few years after Azariah's second departure 
the name Quebec, so long the type of wickedness 
and hostility, became blazed through the country 
as the symbol of a terror and a scourge. The 
French and the English in America and in Europe 
had come to blows. In Europe, it was the day of 
La Hogue and Steenkerke ; in America, it was the 
day of the Massacre of Schenectady. The winter 
of '93-94 was a fearful one for the frontier towns 
of New England. Through the deep snow and the 
pathless forests came the French and Indian war- 



22 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

parties, attacking suddenly the unprotected villages, 
killing and burning, and so returning swiftly to 
Canada. Benfleld, out on the frontier, was in 
imminent danger. 

Nor was this the worst. To begin with, it was 
nothing but a dim rumor and a faint whisper ; but 
as the winter wore on, it became more and more an 
accepted truth and a horrible fact that among the 
French voyageurs and the Indian converts w T as the 
renegade Azariah Strong. Whether the rumor or 
the belief were or were not true or false, cannot 
be certainly known even at this day ; but in Ben- 
field it was recognized as undoubted that foremost 
among the fearful leaders of the relentless war- 
parties was the ne'er-do-weel son of their beloved 
pastor. 

In the course of the winter Dr. Strong set apart 
a day for fasting and prayer ; and the whole vil- 
lage gathered in the meeting-house, their minds 
heavy with the news of the burning of Danford 
only a few days before, and the rumor that Azariah 
Strong had been among the French and Indians 
there engaged. For many hours before the time 
for public meeting, Dr. Strong had remained shut 
up in his study, refusing food and drink and the 
sight of any of his flock. Then, in the morning, 
he walked down to the meeting-house and sat 
alone in the pulpit for some hours before the people 
gathered. At the time appointed he arose and 



HIS SONS MADE THEMSELVES VILE. 23 

offered prayer. The prayer was a short one ; the 
minister alluded to the fearful scourge that was 
abroad, and besought God's mercy upon His people, 
bending, however, before His will, should it seem 
best to Him to chasten them for their sins. Then 
he opened the Bible, and read from it the text for 
his discourse ; namely, in the third chapter of 
First Samuel, the eleventh verse to the fourteenth, 
— and in particular, these words : " For I have 
told him that I will judge his house for ever, for 
the iniquity which he knoweth : because his sons 
made themselves vile, and he restrained them not." 

The old man stood silent for a time, endeavoring 
to speak but unable to make himself heard. An 
intense silence filled the house, broken only by the 
sobs of some of the women. At last Dr. Strong 
found his voice, and spoke : — 

" The hand of the Lord hath fallen heavily upon 
me, my people, in this my old age, on account 
of the sins of my younger days ; and not least in 
the sharpness of the rod is it, that for my fault this 
whole people is afflicted." 

And having said so much, he was again stricken 
with silence, and again stood speechless before 
the congregation for some moments, opening his 
mouth several times to speak, but saying nothing. 
Finally he spoke again : — 

" The Lord hath put His hand to my mouth, that 
I may not utter a word. Bear with me now, my 



24 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

brethren, and pray for me ; for my chastening is 
very sore." 

And with that he sat down in his chair and 
put his head into his two hands ; and the whole 
house was filled with the sobbiDg of the women, 
and even of the men. And Abijah Lyford, the 
white-haired deacon, went up the steps and took 
the minister by the hand, and led him down from 
the pulpit and through the house, while the people 
hid their faces in their hands, and so along the 
village street (it was a beautiful sunny winter 
morning), and to the minister's house. 

With the help of some of the women who came 
out from the meeting-house the old man was put 
to bed, where he lay quietly, without saying a 
word. But the rest of the congregation remained 
in the meeting-house. Abijah Lyford came quietly 
back to his place, and sat down, with his face 
hidden in his hands ; and so they all sat in silent 
prayer until, one after another stealing out and 
away, all were finally gone, and the house was 
empty. 

The next day came in men from the woods with 
more tidings of horrible massacres and burnings; 
and the night after came the horror itself. Silently, 
in the dead of night, through the dark pine forests, 
pushing noiselessly in long files over the deep snow, 
came the scourge of New England, — the French 
and Indians ; revengeful, unescapable, remorseless, 



HIS SONS MADE THEMSELVES VILE. 25 

unheralded save by the intense stillness of the 
midnight, that seemed to presage a stormy dawn- 
ing; unmarked save by the snow-clad pine-trees 
past which they held their silent way ; unpro- 
claimed except in vague apprehension and impo- 
tent terror, the war-party made known its presence 
only by the heart-thrilling war-whoop which wak- 
ened the sleepers to the fatal sound of the mus- 
ketry. They fell upon Benfield just before dawn; 
and by noon of the same day they had withdrawn 
again into the forests on their way back to Canada, 
leaving behind them ashes and the dead. Of the 
inhabitants most were slain, many were carried 
away captive, and few fled through to the neigh- 
boring settlements, — the nearest twenty miles 
away. 

The only person in the whole village to escape 
entirely the terror of the fire and the sword was 
the pastor. Dr. Strong never spoke aloud after 
having been brought to his house on Sunday ; and 
on Monday evening, only a few hours before the 
war-whoop was first heard at his very door, he 
passed away from the troubles and terrors of his 
lot on this earth, and escaping the evil that would 
have smitten, slipped away and came to his rest 
with One who had always been his Rock and his 
Salvation. 



Third Sunday in July. 
" Cease to do evil ; learn to do well." 

" T WOULD N'T, Johnny, if I were you." 

J. John Brooks- started as if he had been struck. 
He left the window where he was standing, and 
walked slowly over to the bed. Here he paused. 
His face, only a moment before sullen and cross, 
took on a look of tenderness. He leaned over and 
stroked the head of a boy about ten years old, who 
was lying there. 

" No, you would n't," he said presently, with 
bitterness. " You would n't, but I would. I can't 
help it. I 've got in with those fellows, and I 've 
promised to go. Yes, I must, Charlie. Don't say a 
word to me. I know you won't tell. You are such 
a jolly little brother to have ; you never do tell." 

" But, Johnny, maybe I ought to tell. Aunt 
Jenny said the other day that going out nights 
just ruined boys, and she was so glad her boys never 
wanted to ; and she said a good deal more about 
bad company, and the low set of boys that there 
were around the mill. You don't know any of 
them, do you, Johnny ? " and Charlie looked 
anxiously up into his brother's face. 



28 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

John Brooks turned his head away. " Don't ask 
such a thing. Don't think I shall be ruined because 
once in a while I have to steal away from home 
to have a little fun. It 's all nonsense," continued 
he, warming up. " As if I could n't take care of 
myself ! " 

" But, Johnny, you did smell pretty bad of smoke 
last night when you came in," persisted Charlie. 
" Was it because the other boys were smoking ? Do 
you think it is right ? " Charlie's voice had a 
plaintive, earnest inflection that went to John's 
heart. He looked at the patient little invalid 
brother, — the creature he loved best in all the 
world. He noted the paleness of the little face, the 
slenderness of the tiny hand, the sorrowful eyes 
looking into his. Curiously enough he saw it all as 
in a dream. He threw himself on the bed, burying 
his face, and in an excited voice cried out : " No, it 
is n't right, it is n't right, Charlie. It 's all wrong. 
Maybe I 'm wrong ; maybe we 're all wrong. I don't 
know. Things all go against me." He sobbed as he 
spoke. 

Charlie reached out his hand and patted his 
head. 

" Don't, Johnny, don't ! If things don't go right, 
we '11 make 'em go right. I don't know as much as 
you do, but maybe I know more than you think for ; 
maybe I can help somehow. You know ever since 
I was sick, father has humored me ; I don't believe 



GEASE TO DO EVIL ; LEARN TO DO WELL. 29 

he understands about you, or he would n't scold 
you so." 

" Not one word to father," cried out John, with 
snapping eyes. " Don't you say one word to father ! 
If you do, Charlie, I don't know what I should do to 
you. Oh dear ! oh dear ! Why does everything go 
wrong with me ? " The boy threw himself back 
again on the bed from which he had roused himself 
with the fear that his deeds should come to his 
father's notice. 

Poor John ! His way was hard. The way of all 
boys and girls is hard who will not try to do right ; 
and John was not trying to do right. He was fast 
learning to do wrong. 

A year ago Mrs. Brooks, the dear good mother of 
these two boys, had died. Even then Charlie was 
an invalid, having met with a severe accident in 
trying to join in a game of foot-ball with older boys. 
He might live to old age, the doctor said, but he 
would never be a strong, well boy again. Natu- 
rally rather a quiet boy, he read and thought a good 
deal, and was old beyond his years. His big brother 
John he looked up to with admiration unmixed 
with envy. John was a tall, handsome fellow, with 
a winning smile. There was a great contrast be- 
tween him and Charlie, but he returned all Charlie's 
affection in full. He would give up his favorite 
game, if he thought Charlie wanted him. He went 
to and from school with his brother each day, though 



30 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

three blocks out of his own way. He carried 
Charlie's books. He would have carried Charlie 
himself if he would have allowed it. 

When Mrs. Brooks died, John felt her death 
keenly. It seemed as if he could not live without 
his mother. He grew sullen, and lost his cheerful, 
bright ways. It seemed to him that no one else in 
all the world had ever suffered as he did. When 
he went to his room at night, he would fret and 
storm in his wild rebellion, until one night Charlie 
said to him: " Don't, Johnny ! I, too, loved mother. 
Don't say nobody loved her as you did ! " And John 
stopped short to look into Charlie's face and see 
there a patient grief, beside which his own showed 
its true selfishness. But while he would not again 
trouble Charlie, he felt wild and rebellious still. 
A longing to do something, — not to think of the 
dear mother, but to drive her from him, came 
over him. 

Just then a new agent for the mills came to town, 
bringing his family and taking a house near by 
where John and Charlie Brooks lived. He had two 
sons also, Sam and Dick, — wild, unruly boys. The 
mother watched them but little. She was too much 
taken up with her household cares and an army 
of visitors. Mr. Green was busy all day at the 
mill, and in the evening he was apt to stretch him- 
self upon the lounge and sleep. Not much time 
did he find to enter into his bovs' interests. It was 



CEASE TO DO EVIL ; LEARN TO DO WELL. 31 

little wonder they drifted away from home to find 
amusement with boys who spent their evenings 
upon the^ streets, boys who smoked and used 
bad language. There were too many such boys in 
Clipsville, where there was no public library or 
place of resort for boys of an eveniug. 

Sam and Dick were two merry, fun-loving boys 
always ready for mischief, and soon became prime 
favorites on the street. Led on by them, the boys 
had fixed up an old disused shed; and many an 
evening was passed there smoking cigarettes, play- 
ing cards, and planning mischief. Of late, John 
Brooks had been one of the number. His kind 
Aunt Jenny had no suspicion of it. She noticed 
that he was not the old bright, cheerful boy he 
had been, but she never suspected the cause. 

" John is growing fast, Morris," she said one day 
to her brother. " He does n't look as rugged as he 
used to ; but he goes to bed early, and will feel bet- 
ter by and by." 

Only Charlie knew that John did not go to bed 
early. He knew that many a night John went out 
when he thought Charlie was asleep, and came in 
late ; but Charlie would not tell of his brother. He 
thought the matter over, and when our story opens, 
he had for the first time found courage to speak. 
Charlie was not successful, however. 

" I must go to-night, Charlie," said John, gloom- 
ily. "Maybe I won't to-morrow." And Charlie 



32 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

could get nothing more. He turned wearily on the 
bed, said "good-night" in a plaintive voice, and 
John, after looking at him for a moment, stole 
softly out. 

Charlie was not asleep; he was only thinking. 
Why would his splendid brother John do these 
things, — John, who was so big and so courageous 
and so kind ? If John would only be the boy he 
used to be, and not so different all the time. Poor 
Charlie ! he was sore perplexed. He did n't know 
exactly what he did want, — only to help John in 
some way. And while he worried, he fell asleep. 
When he awoke in the morning, John was sleeping 
by his side. When he came, Charlie did not know, 
but he did know now what he was going to do. 
In his troubled sleep he had kept John in his 
mind. He knew he could not tell Aunt Jenny, and 
worse yet it would be to tell his father ; indeed, he 
did not mean to tell anybody. 

After school, just as Charlie was putting up his 
books, his teacher, Mr. Marston, came along. " JSTow," 
thought the boy, " is my time." 

"How does your little club-room at the end 
of the village get on, Mr. Marston ? " asked 
Charlie. 

" Getting on first-rate, my boy. Have n't you 
ever been down there ? Why won't you and John 
come over to-night ? We Ve got the game of 
Halma. It 's new to the boys, and I want one or 



CEASE TO DO EVIL; LEARN TO DO WELL. 33 

two fellows who know how to play to show them 
how. If John and you can come in for an hour 
to-night, it will be a real help." 

Everybody is not as successful as Charlie was in 
his little scheme. He had gained just what he 
wanted. 

" Oh, I should love dearly to come if Aunt Jenny 
will let me, Mr. Marston. I'm pretty sure John 
would like to go too. Only, you know, I can't go 
if John does n't. Since I was sick, I don't go round 
much without Johnny." 

Mr. Marston said he would send a note to Aunt 
Jenny. Perhaps he was glad to get a chance to 
write her a note, for she was a sweet and attractive 
young lady. 

That night at supper Charlie was in a high state 
of excitement. He wanted to talk of the Club and 
Halma all during supper. In vain Johnny scowled 
at him, and when the others were not looking, shook 
his head at him. For once Charlie was not to be 
silenced. When supper was over, John beckoned 
Charlie into a corner of the sitting-room. 

" Say, Charlie, I can't go to-night. Won't to- 
morrow night do ? " 

" "No" answered Charlie stoutly, " I don't think it 
will ; Mr. Marston said he wanted us to-night." 

" But I tell you I can't go to-night. I 've prom- 
ised to go down with the other boys. Put it off, 
Charlie." 

3 



34 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" But I can't put it off," persisted Charlie. " Mr. 
Marston asked us for to-night, and he did n't say 
anything about to-morrow night." 

"But it won't make any difference, Charlie. Tell 
Aunt Jenny you don't want to go." 

" But I do want to go." Charlie trembled, — not 
because of disappointment, but because he began 
to feel sure that all was not right with John, and 
he feared he could not hold out against his stronger 
will. John looked at him curiously. 

" Well, have your own way, then ; 1 11 go." And 
having made up his mind to it, John was not the 
boy to spoil the evening with ill temper. 

Seven o'clock that evening found the boys in the 
little rooms where the Boys' Club had just been 
started. Mr. Marston was there before them, and 
half a dozen ragged little urchins whom John had 
never seen before. One by one other boys dropped 
in, more or less ragged and dirty, until John counted 
nineteen. Some of them looked wild enough ; 
some were shy; but Mr. Marston, in his pleasant 
way, drew them into conversation. One rule must 
be obeyed : Mr. Marston could stand noise, but no 
profane word was allowed in the room. The boys 
understood this rule perfectly, and obeyed it. 

In an inner room, where there could be more 
quiet, were four or five tables, and a game of Halma 
on each one. John and Charlie sat down at the 
tables and soon were in the heat of the game. They 



CEASE TO DO EVIL; LEARN TO DO WELL. 35 

forgot who the boys were, and forgot their dirty, 
unkempt ways. After all they were boys, — boys 
who had seen a different side of life, but boys for all 
that. John was no prig. He found himself saying, 
" Hurry up, Bill ; your turn now." And in turn 
Bill answered, " There now, Jack, go ahead. I bet 
I '11 beat." 

In the midst of the fun a loud noise was heard 
in the outer room, — a scream as if of terror, and a 
sobbing, with inarticulate words. 

John jumped from his chair and ran to the outer 
room, followed by the other boys. A little boy, 
ragged and dirty, was trying to tell his story to Mr. 
Marston, between his snuffles and his sobs. It was 
a broken story ; but the boys, more familiar with 
such things, caught it at once, and translated it to 
John and Charlie, who stood by anxiously trying to 
understand the jumble of words, sobs, and hiccoughs 
which poured forth from the boy's mouth. 

It was not a strange story of Poverty Alley, — a 
drunken mother, an imprisoned father, scolds and 
blows in the house, no fire, and little to eat. The 
boy, turned to the street and attracted by a light, 
drew near to warm himself. It proved to be a 
little house, remote from any dwelling, used for the 
storage of some farm implements. A group of boys 
were just running away as he came up, and while 
he was looking he spied a policeman. The boy 
was big enough to know that the sooner he got 



36 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

away from there the better. He started to run, 
fell, picked himself up, saw the policeman again, 
ran blindly on, fell again, cut his head so that it 
bled badly, and in fear and terror ran on until he 
came to the club-room, where he "knew a feller 
that belonged." The curtainless windows showed 
him the boys and Mr. Marston. Half-dead with 
fright and cold he stumbled in. 

" I know him. Get out the way ! " sung out Jim 
Murphy. " He has an awful time of it with that 
ma of his. Say, Pat, ain't she just awful ? " 

Pat ceased his sobs and nodded his head ; but a 
feeling of loyalty made him retract and say, " She 
ain't any wuss 'n yourn, Jim Murphy." 

Mr. Marston called one of the boys who had not 
shown the ready sympathy of Jim, to wash Pat's 
head, and then with a bit of sticking-plaster he 
drew the cut together. By this time dirty little 
Pat was quieted down a good deal, and told his 
story more coherently, but in all details the same. 

Mr. Marston quietly drew the boy into the inner 
room. And then seeing John looked strangely pale 
and excited, he called him too. 

"Why, John, you look almost as pale as Pat. 
You mustn't let suffering tell on you like that. 
Pat is, according to his own story, innocent. We 
want to prove it, whether the policeman ever comes 
for him or not. It is a bad thing to let even a sus- 
picion rest on the boy." 



CEASE TO DO EYIL ; LEARN TO DO WELL. 37 

" It 's the whole truth. I 'm not telling yer a lie," 
cried out Pat. 

John still seemed agitated. Suddenly a look of 
determination came over his face. 

" Mr. Marston, may I speak with you alone for 
one moment ? " 

Mr. Marston wonderingly drew the boy one side. 

John grew perhaps a shade paler, but he did not 
flinch. " I know all about that fire, Mr. Marston. 
A lot of boys met down by the mill, and I used to 
go down there too sometimes. I was down last 
night, and they were talking about it, and thought it 
would be great fun to set fire to that old house. I 
did n't want to, but we left the matter over till to- 
night, when I promised to go down again ; but Char- 
lie would n't let me off. He made me come here 
instead. I tell you that boy did n't have anything 
to do with it. He 's too small. I don't know the 
names of the boys, either, for 't was n't decided last 
night who would do it." John was no coward. 
He told his story squarely, and without flinching. 

Mr. Marston heard him with a very grave face. 
" My boy, I am thankful enough for you that your 
love for Charlie has saved you this night. I be- 
lieve you now see in a new light your wrong-doing. 
I cannot think that you were ever, heart and soul, 
with those boys. Never dally with wrong- doing, 
my boy. Fly from it, if you have n't strength 
otherwise to resist it. Remember always this one 



38 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

tiring : ' Cease to do evil ; learn to do well.' Now, 
to-day, — not to-morrow, but now, cease to do 
evil." 

In true street-Arab style little Pat had forgotten 
his troubles and run off as soon as he thought he 
was not to be pursued. While Mr. Marston was 
talking with John, he made good his escape. 

John and Charlie bid Mr. Marston " good-night," 
and walked off home. Charlie never knew from 
just what he had saved his brother. He knew 
only that thereafter there were no wakeful, sorrow- 
ful hours, wondering where Johnny was. He had 
ceased to do evil; he was already learning to do 
well. 



Fourth Sunday in July. 

"Nay, but we will have a king over us." 

MY children have often asked me to write out 
my life for them ; for they say (they love 
me) that could it be largely read, it would be of use 
to many in these days to keep them in the way of 
their fathers by showing them what the way of their 
fathers was. But I cannot write it. I am too busy 
to spend my time in that way, and I cannot remem- 
ber rightly all the things which have befallen me, 
to put them in an orderly manner ; nor, if I had all 
my past life spread out before me, have I the gift 
of speech to write down fairly the things in my 
mind, so that others shall feel them as I feel them, 
and understand them as I understand them. Such 
a gift is not given to many ; and as for me, I know 
well that I have it not, for it is all I can well do 
to write out plainly and well the directions to my 
correspondents in matters of business, and to an- 
swer their letters ; and if I can do that, and keep 
my ledgers in clean condition, it is all that I desire. 
But as the days of my youth, before my coming 
over to this country, were days of interest to all 
Englishmen, and especially to those in these parts 



40 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

of New England, I have made shift to write down 
some of the stories which my children like to have 
me tell them in the winter evenings, when we sit 
about the fire together. So here are some pieces 
of my remembrances, put together like an old 
man's talk ; perhaps without plain connection, but 
such, I think, that all may easily see what is the 
drift thereof. 

"AND THEY SAID, NAY, BUT WE WILL HAVE A KING 
OVER US." 

I can remember very well the coming back to 
England of Charles Stuart, the second of that name 
who was king of England ; for that time was a 
strange time, and one which I must think will 
remain always in the minds of those who were, 
like me, youngsters at that time, and living in the 
city of London. Eor I was then sixteen years old, 
having been born in the year 1644, which was the 
year before my father went forth with the London 
trainbands, at the time of the battle of Naseby, al- 
though they did not then come to battle with the 
king ; for Oliver Cromwell, having that matter in 
hand, finished it well without their help. But, as I 
say, I was then born ; and as I grew up, I grew up in 
an England that had no king, but was ruled by her 
own just men, as she saw fit herself to call them 
to power. I was five years old at the time that 
Charles the First, so called, was put to a just death 



NAY, BUT WE WILL HAVE A KING. 41 

by the High Court of Justice; but I remember 
nothing of that, for it is too long ago. But I do 
remember well the time when his son Charles came 
back to England ; for to one born and bred in a 
free Commonwealth, it was indeed a memorable 
time when a king was set over the land. 

There are many things I remember of the day in 
which the king entered London, and of those days 
after. It was a day kept, as it seemed, by almost 
all the city with very great rejoicing; and as I 
think of it now, there were many folk who had 
been stanch for the Commonwealth, as far as one 
could see, who now flung up their caps highest and 
shouted loudest for " his Sacred Majesty King 
Charles the Second." There are always many such 
in any large city, who desire only to be with 
whichever side is uppermost, like the Vicar of Bray 
in the old song. But my father was not one of 
these, for he was a man who had greatly honored 
the late Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell, and who 
had heartily misliked the rule of kings over Eng- 
land, thinking that it was not according to justness 
and reason, — being a somewhat peculiar man. 
Indeed, he argued — and that often, and with 
anybody who would — that the true state of a 
body politic was one wherein all, even the lowest, 
should, according to their capacity, have somewhat 
to say as to the conduct of matters of State. So he 
had always opposed the monarchy and the return 



42 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

of the exiled Charles Stuart. But during the time 
after Eichard Cromwell had slid away from the 
trust left him by his father, the people feared the 
army, and began to murmur for a king again. 
And so my father gradually became one of a few ; 
for more and more people every day began to 
desire that there should be again a king over 
England. 

On the day when Charles the Second entered 
the city of London, all business was stopped, and 
everybody went about rejoicing and doing what 
they might to show their loyalty to this new king 
they had now got, — all, that is, but my father and 
such as, like him, still would have continued the 
Commonwealth. There were a number of these, in 
truth, but nothing at all in comparison with the 
others. Well, as I said, on the 29th of May, 1660, 
when the king was entering the city with great 
pomp and all, my father and all his house remained 
within doors and spent the day in fasting and 
prayer ; and no one of us that day stirred from the 
house, but we passed the time chiefly in one of the 
upper rooms of the house. And in the morning my 
father read in the Scriptures, as was his wont, and 
expounded them to us, choosing for the purpose that 
eighth chapter of First Samuel, whereof I have put 
the nineteenth verse at the head of this writing. 
In that chapter is detailed the manner in which 
the people murmured to Samuel, desiring that he 



NAYi, BUT WE WILL HAVE A KING. 43 

should make a king over them, not being con- 
tent with that lawful and godly way wherein they 
had before walked, having judges to judge them. 
And this chapter my father expounded to us, and 
showed us its application to that time which then 
was. 

I well remember how it seemed. My father sat 
in a great carved chair, and around the room, 
which was somewhat dark, sat the others of the 
household, — and first my grandfather, who was 
now very old, and also blind and a paralytic. Yet 
his mind was preserved to him, so that he had 
followed the Saints (as was his word for them) in 
their strivings for many years ; and now that they 
had been brought to nought, his head sank upon 
his bosom, and he felt that it was time for him to 
pass away. And my mother had been the daugh- 
ter of one who had fled over sea to Holland for 
conscience' sake ; but she, meeting my father, had 
married him, and so followed him whithersoever he 
went, and thus was now in London again. And 
my elder brothers and sisters (for I was the young- 
est of six) sat about the room quietly, and as in 
great grief. In truth, it was very like the day 
when my mother's mother had died and been car- 
ried to the grave, — which day also I remember 
very well. And no one of us spoke, save only my 
father, who read us that chapter and then ex- 
pounded it to us, and then stood before the Lord 



44 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

in prayer for a season, and we with him. And in 
the afternoon we went about the house guietly, 
saying little to each other ; so that the house was 
as a house of mourning. 

But outside the house there was great noise and 
rejoicing, and that in many parts of the city ; for 
with the king were now come back many who had 
stood by him through all his misfortunes, and these 
naturally made great joy that now they should be 
returned to all their offices, and distinctions, and 
riches, whereof they had been deprived in the times 
of the Commonwealth. (Such had been called in 
the days of my youth Malignants, but now they had 
the upper hand.) And also there were, as I have 
said before, many of the vulgar sort who had cared 
not much one way or t' other ; and these, now that 
great casks of wine were being broached in the 
streets, and great oxen being roasted whole in the 
public squares, — these were indeed very zealous for 
King Charles the Second, and bawled loudly for 
him, and drank the wine, and so ran about the 
streets with much noise and shouting until they fell 
down, some in door- ways and others in alley -ways, 
and so slept. And there were also persons of the 
better sort who rejoiced at the return of Charles 
Stuart, though they had misliked the rule of his 
father. But they said, " His son hath been taught 
by affliction, and will not fall into the errors of his 
father." And, in truth, that did he not, but into 



NAY, BUT WE WILL HAVE A KING. 45 

worse. These whom I mention feared that if there 
were no king nor protector over England, the army 
would seize upon the chief power. The army was 
now encamped at Blackheath, and a few days after 
it was reviewed by the king, and my father went 
out, for he was familiar with many of the officers 
and the soldiers, who had been his friends now for 
years. And he said to me that when the king came 
out to the army, everything was sullen and dark 
as though preparing for a storm, and that no one 
cheered or shouted, for all that the king spoke fairly 
to the officers. I believe my father thought that 
the army, with a few others, contained all the men 
in England who were not crazed and carried away, 
as it were, with this new idea of having a king. 
Eor in London it seemed almost as though many 
had gone mad. 

Of all the things that passed in those days, the 
things that I remember best are such as passed 
when I was at the house of Mr. Milton, the great 
and godly man who wrote the poem of " Paradise 
Lost." Eor in those days I lived with my parents 
in Jewin Street, which goes out from Aldersgate 
Street, not very far from St. Martin's le Grand. 
And some months after the king had come back, 
thither came Mr. Milton, who had been for a time 
in hiding, fearing that those cruel and bloody men 
would have taken his life had he been found, as 
they would have taken the life of Oliver Cromwell, 



46 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

the friend of Milton, only he was dead, so they must 
content themselves with digging up his dead body, 
and hanging it on a gallows at Tyburn ; though, in- 
deed, had Oliver Cromwell been alive, the king would 
not have returned. But as to Mr. Milton. He lived 
near us, I remember, being a blind man, and thought 
by most of the people to be inspired by the Lord. 
And my father was of his friends, and having a 
great love and admiration for him, he would often, 
of an evening, after my work was done, send me in 
to him to read to him in the Italian tongue, which 
I could speak readily, as it happened. And Mr. 
Milton himself loved that tongue very much, hav- 
ing travelled in Italy when he had been younger. 
And indeed he, having a very nice and particular 
ear, would often correct me as I read to him, so that 
my pronunciation of that tongue was much im- 
proved ; for I had learned it only of traders and 
rough people in Italy, wherefore I was not polished 
in speaking. 

Mr. Milton was even at that time, as I under- 
stood, engaged in writing that poem of which I have 
already spoken, namely, " Paradise Lost," and used 
to dictate it, some twenty verses at a time, to one 
or another who happened to be by him at such 
times as he desired to write. But me he seldom 
used as a hand to write down those inspired words ; 
for at the time of the year when I was with him, 
that is to say, the winter time, he was wont to 



NAY, BUT WE WILL HAVE A KING. 47 

think that his verse flowed not so readily as during 
the summer, and I used usually to read to him. 
One part of the work, however, did he dictate to 
me ; namely, a portion of what is now the tenth book, 
beginning with the six hundred and ninety-fifth line. 
And that I well recollect, for in that part which he 
then dictated came the word Norumbega, which was 
held in England at that time to be some ancient 
town in these parts of New England, though since 
I have come here I have never heard of it. And 
another part I wrote also ; namely, the lines in the 
sixth book, beginning with the twenty-ninth line ; 
for as the poem originally stood, it had some other 
lines there, and not these which we now read, 
though what they were I cannot say, for I have 
never seen them. As they stand now in the poem 
I wrote them myself to Mr. Milton's dictation one 
night in December, in the year 1660, not very long 
before Christmas Day, which that year was cele- 
brated with great rejoicing and much mummery. 
And the way was as follows : I went up to Mr. 
Milton's house on that day, to read to him as usual, 
and the book that I read was an Italian tragedy on 
the subject of Adam and Eve, wherein Mr. Milton 
was interested, since he was writing of those 
matters himself. It was poor stuff, it seemed 
to me, and was by one Troilo Lancetta, having 
been published not many years before this 
time. 



48 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

As I came into the room Mr. Milton was sitting 
alone in a carved chair with leather covering, in 
which he often sat, having his hands on the arms 
of the chair, and with his eyes fixed straight before 
him, as though he saw something. For his blindness, 
as is well known, was inward, as might be said, for 
as far as one could see his eyes looked like those of 
another, being of a somewhat grayish color. But 
for all that, he could not see, and this gave his face 
a sort of mystical look which I at least was always 
attempting to find the secret of. And when I came 
into the room and was about to read that tragedy I 
spoke of, he withheld me, saying that he was not in 
the humor for such things. And he entered into 
discourse with me about some Quakers who had 
recently been sent to prison for holding a meeting, 
which was then against the law, now that the king 
was back. And I told him what I had seen of the 
matter; which was that these same Quakers had 
been put to the common side at Newgate, among 
all the pickpockets, cheats, thieves, and murderers 
who were herded there, and that for no cause but 
that they would meet together for worship. And 
Mr. Milton had sympathy with these people as well 
as with the Baptists, who then suffered more than 
most, so that he fell into deep thought when I told 
him those things. And he spoke to me somewhat 
of a tractate of his which he had published not long 
before the king had returned, proposing " An Easy 



NAY, BUT WE WILL HAVE A KING. 49 

Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth," and spoke 
a few words of one who had answered him in a piece 
called " No Blind Guides," thereby mocking his in- 
firmity. Yet he said nothing harsh, but rather 
sorrowfully. Then he fell into a muse for a time, 
and after a bit he bade me take pen and paper and 
set down what he should tell me. So he dictated 
to me these lines now following, throwing one leg 
over the arm of his chair, as was his wont. And 
as to the words which he then dictated to me, he 
was thinking, as I suppose, of himself : — 

" Servant of God, well done ! well hast thou fought 
The better fight, who single hast maintained 
Against revolted multitudes the cause 
Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms, 
And for the testimony of truth hast borne 
Universal reproach, far worse to bear 
Than violence ; for this was all thy care, — 
To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds 
Judged thee perverse." 

I have since read those lines, just as I then wrote 
them down, in the sixth book of " Paradise Lost." 
And I make sure (though that book of the poem was 
then finished ) that he struck out what lines had 
been there, and put in their room those which came 
to him when he thought of himself, as he had main- 
tained the cause of the Lord alone against that 
crew of riotous and wicked men and women about 
the king, who then had the upper hand, whom he 



50 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

might well have compared with the fallen ones who 
surrounded Satan, save that Satan, as we see him 
in that poem of Milton's, is a far nobler character 
than was ever King Charles the Second. 

There are many other things which come to me 
when I think over those times, and most of them I 
have at one time or another told my children, and 
will myself set down at large at some convenient 
time. But now I cannot set down more here, be- 
cause my occasions are pressing ; and so I will let 
this be until another time. 



First Sunday in August. 

"By me kings reign and princes decree justice" 

THEEE was once a king in the East, and he was 
the greatest and most powerful of all the kings 
of the earth. And he sat in the morning in the Hall 
of Justice to right wrongs and to hear those who 
were oppressed. And about him stood the princes 
and the emirs and the governors, to the number of 
several hundred, waiting for the word of the king. 
And in the vestibules and in the halls stood all the 
pages and mamelukes and slaves, standing all of 
them ready to do their service at the king's com- 
mand. And in the antechambers were the wise 
men and the travellers, and those who knew the 
wisdom of the ages, ready to resolve the mind of 
the king of any difficulty or to tell him anything he 
might desire to know. And by the door were the 
treasurers and the bankers and the merchants wait- 
ing the orders of the king for money or for merchan- 
dise. And without, in the court, were the soldiers 
ready for the chase and mounted on Arab steeds ; 
and there too were long lines of armed elephants, 
and camels without number, for the service of the 
king. And without the gate were the beggars, who 



52 . SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

sat waiting for the great king to come out that they 
might hold out their hands to him and receive each 
a piece of gold. And every morning the Grand 
Vizier and all the viziers came in and stood before 
the great king and said, " King of the Age, live 
forever I " and fell upon their faces before him. And 
beside the king sat his young son. 

But the king sat in the Hall of Justice and 
righted wrongs, and helped those who had fallen, 
and raised up those who were unlawfully oppressed. 
He was very old, and his face wore ever a grave 
and serious look, and it seemed to all the people 
that he took little pleasure in all his riches and his 
greatness, for he never smiled. But there was no 
man in the city who ever lifted up his voice against 
the great king, for there was no man who had ever 
received an injustice at his hand, or who had ever 
been wronged by him, or who had ever failed to 
receive from him what was due, or who had ever 
failed to have his wrongs made right. So all the 
people loved him and called him the Just King, at 
which the king himself took some pleasure. 

Now the king died in time and was carried to his 
fathers, and his son reigned in his stead. And he 
w T as not old, but young and handsome as the full 
moon. So now he sat in the Hall of Justice in the 
morning, and righted wrongs, and lifted up the op- 
pressed, and punished the wrong-doer. And the 
people loved him too ; and they said, " As the father, 



BY ME KINGS REIGN. 53 

so also the son." For the young man dealt out 
justice truly, and nowhere in all his kingdom was 
there a wrong unpunished, or a just man oppressed, 
or a wicked man who did not receive his due. 
And the word of the young king was law. 

The young king had been carefully brought up, 
and his ways had been seen to in his youth, that 
he might not stray from them. The soldiers and 
the men of war had taught him all manly exer- 
cises, so that he could throw the javelin and play 
at golf, and ride upon the swift coursers with the 
best. The poets had sung to him of the deeds of 
his fathers, and had taught him also to sing and 
to make songs for himself, — both love-songs and 
others. The travellers and the merchants had told 
him stories of all kinds of strange lands and curi- 
ous islands, and races and tribes who live in far 
countries. The wise men and the seers had told 
him the hidden things, and the secrets, and the 
things unknown to the people. The cadis and the 
mollahs had told him the customs and the laws 
of the peoples. And his father had every day 
instructed him in justice and right, as he sat by 
his side in the Hall of Justice, while the great 
king gave judgment in all cases. 

Now the soldiers had all told the young king 
that he was brave and strong, and the women in 
the harem had told him that he was beautiful, and 
the poets that he was witty, and the seers that he 



54 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

was wise, and the travellers that he was wide in 
knowledge, and the cadis that he was learned, and 
he knew from the people that he was just ; and 
every morning the Grand Yizier and all the viziers 
came in to him and fell upon the floor before him, 
and kissed his feet, and said, " King of the Age, 
live forever ! " 

One day the young king went forth to hunt. 
And there went forth with him a great multitude, 
as ever was the custom when the king went forth 
to hunt. Eor there were the huntsmen with the 
nets and the dogs, and soldiers with bows and 
javelins, and those who rode the camels and the 
elephants, and those who went before to rouse the 
game, and those who came after with great carts 
and bullocks to pick up whatever might be killed. 
And there was a great crowd of mamelukes and 
emirs and favorites and eunuchs and pages, and all 
the great train that ever went forth with the young 
king. 

The king was mounted upon a swift horse from 
Nedjed, which went more swiftly than does the ar- 
row of battle. And in the course of the day he rode 
away with certain who were with him, and left all 
the others ; for he desired to be by himself for a 
space. So, too, he outrode those who were with him, 
and went forth for a time alone on the desert. 

It came to be nightfall as the young king was 
riding alone and thoughtful, and seeing that it 



BY ME KINGS REIGN. 55 

grew dark, and knowing that lie could not get 
home that day, he began to look around him for 
some place to pass the night ; for he was in no 
way afraid to pass the night alone on the desert. 
He rode on, therefore, looking sharply about for 
some trees or some grass or some water. And on 
passing by some high rocks, he came suddenly 
upon an old man with long white hair and a long 
beard. 

" Peace be to you," said the young king. 

" And unto you be peace," replied the hermit, — 
for such was the old man. He lived away here in 
the desert, in a cave in the rocks, afar from the 
world and all the vanities of the market-place or 
the town, and spent his time in meditation and 
contemplation on the hidden things and the great 
things of God. So he said quietly to the young 
king, knowing well who he was, " And unto you 
be peace." 

Then the king asked him whether he might make 
his abode that night with him, and the hermit wel- 
comed him to all that he had. The king dis- 
mounted' and unsaddled his horse, and took his 
bridle off from him, and all his trappings, and 
brought him to a spring of water near at hand, and 
gave him a handful of oats from his saddle-bag, 
and then let him run loose over the desert, know- 
ing that he would be at hand whenever he might 
call for him. But he himself sat down with the 



56 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

hermit at the mouth of his cave ; for it was now a 
clear night, and the stars were shining everywhere 
in the sky. The hermit set before him some dates 
and some clear water, and the two ate together. 
Then the hermit brought forth his prayer-carpet, 
and he and the king kneeled thereon and said the 
prayers appointed for evening. And after that the 
two sat together by the mouth of the cave and 
conversed. 

" Why is it," asked the young king, " that you 
live here alone, far from the abodes of men, in a 
place where nobody passes, and where no one is 
ever seen ? " 

" I live here," said the hermit, " that I may the 
better meditate on the hidden things of God, and 
contemplate his open testimonies." 

At this the young king was somewhat puzzled. 
f I, too," said he, " have often thought on the things 
of God. But it seems to me that it is not neces- 
sary to live here alone in order to meditate and to 
contemplate the things of God. Certainly, here 
you may perform the set prayers and the due 
ablutions, and here you may carry out the laws of 
the Lord, as are set down in his Holy Book ; but 
so may I in my palace. I say the prayers as they 
are appointed, and perform the set ablutions, and 
I drink no wine, and I remember the widows and 
the orphans, and do the other things which I have 
been taught to do, as being the desire of the Lord. 



BY ME KINGS REIGN. 57 

Why may not I do these things in my palace as 
well as thou in the desert ? " 

"Far be it from me, king," said the hermit, 
" to say that every man in his place may not truly 
worship the great God, — thou in thy palace, I in 
the desert." 

" But how canst thou carry out the word of the 
Lord ? " asked the young king ; " how canst thou 
carry out all the due observances of the Lord here 
in the desert ? " 

At this the hermit was silent, and the king went 
on : " How passes the day, hermit ? " 

Then the hermit said : " king, I know thee, 
and I knew thy father. He was a just man, and 
did right in his own eyes, and in the eyes of the 
people, and in the eyes of the great God ; and so 
dost thou. But in one thing was the king thy 
father wanting, and in one thing art thou wanting 
also." 

"In what am I wanting?-" said the king; "what 
one thing is lacking to me ? " 

" There is still wanting to thee the due knowl- 
edge of the true God," said the hermit. "Thou 
thinkest, as thy father thought before thee, that to 
serve God was to perform rightly the prayers and 
the ablutions and the laws. But one thing more 
is needful, and that one thing I can tell thee ; and 
it is this : The great God is not one who calleth 
only for prayers and washings and fastings ; he 



58 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

calleth for true knowledge of him, and true sub- 
mission to his will." 

"And what is this true knowledge, hermit, 
and what is this true submission ? " 

" That is not for me to tell thee, king," replied 
the hermit. " But it shall be told thee in due time, 
and in a way which I know not. But this I may 
say unto thee, Dost thou see these stars that turn 
nightly round about this solid earth ? Each one, in 
its course, carries out the law of the Lord as it was 
laid down in the days of the creation of the world. 
Dost thou see those few palm-trees dimly in the 
darkness ? Each one of them grows and flourishes 
and bears its fruit according to the law of the Lord. 
The wind in the desert fulfils his word, and the rain 
in the cultivated field. And in the town, and even 
in thy court, men come and go according to the 
word of the Lord, as he will have them, although 
thou mayest think thyself to be king of kings. 
Even thy father, when his time came, heard the 
word of the Lord and obeyed it and died. And so, 
too, shalt thou. Now let us go to rest." And with 
that the king and the hermit wrapped themselves 
in their shawls and stretched themselves on the 
sand beneath the stars and slept. And that night 
a dream came to the young king as he slept in the 
desert beside the hermit. He dreamed that he was 
in the palace of some great ruler, even as himself, 
and all around and about were all the princes and 



BY ME KINGS REIGN. 59 

pomp of a great king's palace. And he saw the 
great king sitting on the throne among all the 
people, as he had often sat himself ; and as he looked 
he knew that there was trouble in his heart, but 
what trouble it may have been he knew not. But 
the shade passed from the king's face, and he said, 
" Is not this great Babylon that I have built for the 
house of the kingdom by the might of my power, 
and for the honor of my majesty ? " And while the 
word was in the king's mouth, his countenance 
changed and was troubled, and it seemed as though 
a voice spoke to him, while all the princes and the 
people stood around and heard nothing. Nor could 
the young king hear the voice, what it said. But 
the great king arose from his throne, and went forth 
through the multitude in the courtyard, though no 
one might see him go. And a winged one came 
down from heaven and sat upon the throne in the 
likeness of the king. Then all this passed from the 
sight of the young king, as he slept, and he seemed 
to go forth with the king who had come down from 
his throne. And behold the king went forth into 
the desert, and his crown and his robes were snatched 
from him, and he fell down and grovelled like a 
beast of the field. And his hair became like bird's 
feathers, and his nails like the claws of birds, and 
he abode in the desert, and was blown by all the 
winds and wet by all the rain, and he ate grass 
like the oxen wherever he might find it. And so 



60 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

it was for a time with him. And after severe 
times he came back to his throne, and the shining 
one that filled it in his likeness vanished away, and 
the great king again sat among his people. But it 
appeared to all that the great king was changed. 
And with that the dream ended. 

And in the morning the young king asked the 
hermit what might be the meaning of that dream 
which he had dreamed. 

.Then the hermit said : " This has been the Lord 
who has shown thee the things that were in his 
will, though I might not show them. Know, then, 
that that great king whom thou saw est was Nebu- 
chadnezzar, King of Babylon. And he was in truth 
a mighty king, but he knew not the Lord. And so 
the Lord drove him forth from his throne and from 
his palace, so that he lived among the beasts until 
he should know the Most High that he ruleth over 
the kingdom of men. And he remained among the 
beasts of the field until his understanding came to 
him and he knew the Most High and blessed him. 
For he liveth forever, and his dominion is an ever- 
lasting dominion, and his kingdom endureth to all 
generations. And the kings of this world are as 
grasshoppers before him, and he doth his will, and 
no man saith to him, '- What dost thou ? ' And 
this, king, is a lesson to thee." 

Then the young king said : " Teach me this lesson 
further, and expound it ; for it is to me as a dark 



BY ME KINGS REIGN. 61 

saying, as a too-hard nut in the mouth of an 

infant." 

"Know, king," said the hermit, "that there 
was ever a cloud over the face of the king thy 
father, because he knew not the things that thou 
shalt know. For he thought that he was himself 
Lord of all ; and of the great God he thought that if ■ 
he attended to his ablutions and his fastings and 
his prayings all was well. So as time went on and 
he saw his own weakness and littleness, and knew 
that he was in truth even as nothing, and that he 
must die, he became sad and melancholy, and that 
cloud settled on his face which thou hast often 
seen, for thou knowest that he never smiled. Yet 
he was a great man and a rich man and a just man, 
hating evil and oppression. So there was then but 
one thing wanting ; but that, as thou knowest, was 
all. Now, be thou like thy father in such ways as 
are good. Love justice, hate oppression, succor the 
poor, put down wrong-doers. But add thou this 
one thing : Know the Lord ; know that it is to him 
that the earth belongs, and the fulness thereof, the 
world and they that dwell therein. Know that the' 
Lord's will is to be clone everywhere. Know that 
thou thyself, great king as thou art, art only a ser- 
vant of the Most High, who is put here in the world 
to carry out his laws and do his commandments. 
And if thou shalt know this one thing, thou shalt 
be happy even if thou dost not have what thy father 



62 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

had, — riches and honor and wisdom and long life. 
And without it thou shalt be as was thy father, — 
a man of a sad old age, with a cloud ever on thy 
face." 

And then the king called his horse, and he came 
to him. And the king saddled him and bridled him, 
and turned to part from the hermit. And he said 
" hermit, I have here learned a lesson that will 
not soon vanish from my mind." And he asked 
him to come and visit him in his palace, that he 
might speak with him more concerning the things 
that he had told him of. But the hermit said, 
" If thou wouldst ever see me, seek me here in the 
desert ; for I may not ever enter a town of men." 
And he gave the king a slip of parchment, bidding 
him read it when he reached the palace. 

So the king went away from that place, and rode 
across the desert, taking his way by the sun, and 
thinking over in his heart the things that had 
happened to him. And in some hours he came to 
a town, and thence he soon reached his own city 
and his own palace. And his servants were aston- 
ished to see him, for they had missed him the day 
before, and searched for him, and found him not. 

But the king went to his own chamber and 
opened the parchment slip and read it. And these 
were the words : " Thus saith the Lord, ' By me 
kings reign and princes decree justice.' " And he 
caused those words to be written in letters of gold 



BY ME KINGS KEIGN. 63 

above the great throne in the Hall of Justice, where 
he sat each day hearing quarrels and deciding 
cases. 

After this time the young king lived for many 
years, as had his father. He was loved by all his 
people, and honored by all the other kings of the 
age. But he had one blessing which his father had 
never had ; for he strove ever to carry out in every 
act the word of the Lord, that the glory of God 
might be thereby made more manifest. So he had 
within him an inward peace that made his whole 
life a happy one, and that made his face cheerful 
even to the day of his death. 

But as for the hermit, he lived for some years 
after that, and the king often visited him alone. 
And in time he died ; and the king coming one day 
to see him, found him stretched out at length at the 
mouth of the. cave. So the king himself dug a 
grave for him with his sword in the sand of the 
desert, and buried him, that by that cave where he 
had lived praising God, he might rest till he was 
called by Him at the Day of Judgment. 



Second Sunday in August, 

" Only fear the Lord y and serve him in truth with 
all your heart : for consider how great things he hath 
done for you" 

WHAT a lazy day it was ! — a perfect June 
day, with the sky as blue as blue could be ; 
not a cloud, not a puff of wind; only a deli- 
cious, warm, quiet afternoon when existence was a 
pleasure. 

May Holland lay in her hammock, swinging 
slowly back and forth under the apple-trees. Her 
book had dropped from her hand. A dreamy look 
was upon her face, which even the barking of her 
pet dog Fido did not dispel. 

"May, May!" called her mother. But May 
neither heard nor saw. 

"May, child! what is the matter with you?" 
cried Mrs. Holland, coming up closer to the ham- 
mock. " I have called you twice, but there you lie 
as quiet and unconcerned as if you were miles 
away and never expected to see anybody again. 
What are you dreaming about?" 

May looked up at her mother with rather a se- 
rious expression on her face, and stooping, picked 
up her book. 

. 5 



66 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

" I 'm sorry, Mamma. I didn't mean to be so 
heedless. I have been reading about India and the 
poor women and the child-widows there. It made 
me feel so sorry for them, that I suppose I fell to 
thinking, and so did n't hear you." 

" It 's a book well worth reading, May, and gives 
such a picture of their life there that I don't won- 
der you were interested. You and I and all women 
here have much to be thankful for that we live in a 
Christian land, with a Christian training ; and yet 
sometimes I think I have heard people complain of 
their surroundings even here. Perhaps the home 
is n't as elegant as it might be ; old dresses have to 
be done over; somebody has gone to the head of 
the class, or Lucy paints china better than Jane. 
Why, one day I saw my own big, wise girl act as if 
a Christian land didn't amount to much, because 
Kitty Jones's brother got all the hawthorn blos- 
soms from the little tree for Kitty to wear to a 
reception ! " 

"But, Mother," interrupted May, flushing, "you 
know how that was. I had been watching those 
buds so long, and they were just what I wanted for 
my dress. I would n't have cared if it had been 
anybody else but Kitty Jones; but she knew I 
wanted them, and she put Jack up to it just to 
tease me." 

" I acknowledge that was an aggravating case," 
said Mrs. Holland, smiling; "but confess that for 



FEAR THE LORD AND SERVE HIM. 67 

some time, say a day or two, it did n't seem as if 
there was much in your condition of life to be 
envied." 

" No, there did n't ; that 's true," answered May, 
still annoyed by the recollection of the event, and 
in rather an unforgiving frame of mind ; " and the 
worst of it all is that sometimes I think so still. 
But of course," she added hastily, " I know I have 
lots to be thankful for, — a dear, good mother 
among other things; and I'll try to forget Kitty 
Jones and the hawthorn blossoms. But what did 
you want of me, mother ? " 

" Oddly enough, I wanted you for something 
which bears on this same subject. I had a letter 
recently from Mrs. Towne, asking me to go to the 
Blind Asylum and see her friend Mrs. Barrows, 
who has just brought her little girl there. The 
child is not only blind, but deaf and dumb as well. 
Would n't you like to go with me ? Perhaps you 
will better appreciate then what the Lord has done 
for you, and what He has done for others also. Eun 
and dress you now as quickly as you can, and we 
will start at once." 

May jumped from her hammock and ran to her 
room. In a few minutes she reappeared in a plain 
neat walking dress and hat, and announced herself 
ready for the trip. 

" Was she always blind, Mamma, — this little 
girl we are going to see, I mean ? " 



68 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" No, dear ; when she was a baby she saw as well 
as you or I." 

" And could she hear too ? " 

"Perfectly well. She was a dear, bright little 
baby, with lovely blue eyes seeing everything, as 
happy babies do, hearing well, and beginning at 
the usual age to say a few words. A merry little 
sunbeam she was in the house, with her bright, 
happy, baby ways, — the only little girl, and no baby 
could be loved dearer than she." 

" And can't she see a ray of light now, nor hear a 
sound ? " persisted May, as if doubting any affliction 
so terrible. 

" Not a ray of light comes to her, and not a sound 
can she hear," answered Mrs. Holland, sadly. " It 
is, indeed, a terrible thing. Sometimes when I 
think of it I say, ' Why not my baby, my May, who 
was deprived of all this ! '" 

" Oh, Mamma, don't ! " said May, shuddering at 
the thought. "Maybe if she had never seen, it 
would n't be so bad, — I don't know either as there 
would be any difference. It's just as bad as it can 
be, any way. What has she got to live for ? How 
can she stand it ? " 

"My dear May," said her mother, "do not get 
excited over little Bessie Barrows. You have not 
seen her yet. You will find that she has a great 
deal to live for. Perhaps she may think youv 
condition happier than hers. , What if she should 



FEAR THE LORD AND SERVE HIM. 69 

spend her time in sulks because she cannot hear, 
speak, or see ! " 

" Oh, Mamma, of course she '11 think my condi- 
tion is better than hers. I should n't blame her if 
she was real unhappy about it ; should you ? " 

" I won't say now, my dear girl, anything about 
this matter. We '11 wait and see how she feels. In 
the mean time it is possible that you may realize 
that you are not the most unfortunate girl in the 
world, or even the little girl who has heavy sorrows 
to bear. If you have n't all your heart longs for, 
you certainly have much that should arouse in you 
deep gratitude." May hung her head. She knew 
how apt she was to magnify her little troubles. 
" But here we are at the door, and I hope we shall 
be so fortunate as to find Mrs. Barrows and Bessie 
at home." 

A blind girl answered Mrs. Holland's ring, and to 
May's astonishment took her card unhesitatingly 
and led them to the parlor. She then went to find 
Mrs. Barrows. 

" How did she know about the card, Mamma, and 
how could she find her way here without feeling all 
the time ? " asked May. 

Just then Mrs. Barrows entered the room, and 
in another moment a bright-faced, blue-eyed little 
girl, dressed in white, stood in the doorway, paused 
a second, and with a bound came running to her 
mother. 



70 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

May looked on in surprise. Mrs. Barrows made 
some signs with her fingers to the child, who im- 
mediately, with no fear, ran to Mrs. Holland and 
then to May, holding up her sweet, childish face for 
a kiss. She seemed especially to be pleased with 
May, and passing her hands over her face, expressed 
her satisfaction by kissing her again, and then drew 
her to one side of the room to show her her blocks 
and dolls. 

" Her dolls are very dear to her," explained Mrs. 
Barrows. " She has a little baby sister at home, of 
whom she is very fond. Now that she is away from 
her, she is even more fond than ever of her dolls, 
and writes her papa long stories of their behavior 
and dress." 

" Is she always happy like this ? " inquired Mrs. 
Holland. 

" Always now," answered Mrs. Barrows. " Of 
course she was so very young when she became 
blind and deaf that she can remember nothing of 
her former state. She was not two years old, and 
could hardly make herself much understood. She 
was too young to be taught ; and many, many sad 
hours I had contemplating my baby and her future. 
As she grew older and her busy mind demanded so 
much information, she would fly into paroxysms of 
anger at her inability to make herself understood. 
She would seize whatever she could find and throw 
it, regardless of where it might land. At last, worn 



FEAR THE LORD AND SERVE HIM. 71 

out by her rage, like a conquered creature, she 
would give up the contest and sink down beaten. 
As soon as we thought desirable we obtained a 
teacher for her. When she began to learn to com- 
municate her thoughts she was a changed child. 
From that day to this she has been the cheerful, 
bright, happy little girl you now see. Her fits 
of anger are all gone. She has the same sunny, 
happy disposition that her babyhood gave prom- 
ise of." 

" I should be very glad if you would give May 
and me some little account of Bessie's education," 
said Mrs. Holland. " Sometimes little folks feel 
that the sunshine is left out of their lives because 
they do not have it in exactly the way they want ; " 
and as Mrs. Barrows kindly consented, she called 
May to bring Bessie and sit beside her. Bessie 
readily obeyed a touch from May's hand, and came 
and sat by their side, quiet, but with still the radiant, 
happy expression on her face. 

" You ought to have given her your flowers be- 
fore, Mamma," exclaimed May. " See, you Ve for- 
gotten them ! " and taking up a bunch of flowers 
from the table, she gave them to Bessie. 

" Boses ! " she spelled out to her mother at once. 
u Thank the little girl ; " and she held up her 
face to kiss her again ; then, still holding them in 
her hand, she buried her face in them with extreme 
satisfaction. 



72 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

" She is fond of roses," said Mrs. Barrows. " In- 
deed, she is very fond of all flowers. She will go 
into a garden and recognize the flowers by their 
odor. Her sense of smell has become more acute, 
perhaps, because she is deprived of some of the 
other senses. At any rate, she depends upon touch 
and smell to reveal objects to her. Oftentimes, 
however, she gets a queer idea of things. But 
with regard to her sense of smell, it is so acute 
that when gloves are thrown into a box or basket, 
she not only mates them but gives them to their 
owners. She often knows of the presence of peo- 
ple before she is told, and we feel sure it must be 
from her intensely acute sense of smell. 

" Bessie was not seven years old when her teacher 
came to her. For three months she held a little 
aloof. She would not give her confidence at once. 
But her teacher was a wise girl, who was willing to 
wait her time. In three months Bessie came and 
kissed her of her own accord. Then the lessons 
began, and Bessie has been improving ever since." 

" What did she do first ? " asked Mrs. Holland. 
"I can understand how she might be taught if 
deprived of one of these senses, but not when both 
are closed." 

" I have told you Bessie was fond of dolls. She 
had one she liked better than the others. Her 
teacher formed the letters and gave Bessie the doll. 
Several times she tried it. At last the child seemed 



FEAR THE LORD AND SERVE HIM. 73 

to understand that here was something she was ex- 
pected to do. She made the letters after her teacher, 
and in a few trials was successful ; though it was 
very much against her inclination to spell the word 
with two Vs. Then the teacher spelled two or 
three other things, giving her the object each time ; 
but it was three or four days before Bessie fairly 
comprehended that these words were the names of 
things. From that moment her desire for knowl- 
edge has never relaxed. She is rarely quiet ; it is 
one question after another. I wish you could see 
her read now. She is very fond of ' reading aloud,' 
as she calls it ; she means communicating what she 
is reading to other people." 

" Oh, do let us see her ! " cried May, who was 
extremely interested. 

Mrs. Barrows rose, took a book from the table, and 
opening it, showed May that it was all printed in 
raised letters. Then, putting the book into Bessie's 
hands, she bid her " read aloud." Bessie began to 
read a little story, feeling the letters with her left 
hand, and at the same time making the letters on 
her mother's hand with her right. Mrs. Barrows 
translated this sign-language to Mrs. Holland and 
May, but every little while she would stop and put 
her hand on Bessie's left one. 

"What makes you do that?" asked Mrs. Holland. 

" To stop her reading," answered Mrs. Barrows, 
laughing. " She reads so much faster than she can 



74 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

make the signs, that sometimes she is a whole page 
in advance." 

" How does she manage it so as not to get all 
mixed np ? " asked May. 

" I 'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Barrows. 
" It seems to me too much of a strain on her, and 
so I stop it; but she has a remarkable memory, and 
never omits a word. She had had instruction only 
four months, when she wrote a letter of eighty-four 
words with no assistance, and she spelled every 
word correctly. Now, in less than two years, she 
knows as many words as a grown person ordinarily 
uses. She never forgets anything. She has now 
learned some words in Latin, Greek, French, and 
German, and she uses them all very well. I really 
think she will be quite a linguist. She is fond of 
study, and never tired of asking questions." 

" For all she is so wonderful," said Mrs. Holland, 
" she seems perfectly natural and childish." 

" Oh, she is perfectly so, and so fond of children 
that she wants to tend every baby she meets. Of 
course that is not always convenient, and poor 
Bessie gets dreadfully disappointed. But she is just 
as happy with children of her own age, and never 
seems to realize that she is different from them. 
Eecently some of the little girls were dancing. 
Bessie could feel the time of the music in the 
vibrations along the floor, and she wanted to dance 
too ; but she could n't catch the step. She was 



FEAR THE LORD AND SERVE HIM. 75 

disappointed, and stood a moment irresolute, as if 
pondering some weighty matter; then down she 
went on the floor, put out her hands, and felt the 
feet as her little companions flew around. It was 
only a minute. She jumped to her feet again, and 
catching a little girl, joined in the dance in perfect 
step. She never loses her patience when the chil- 
dren do not understand her ; over and over again 
she tries to explain, always with the same bright, 
happy look that you see upon her face now. She 
never thinks of what she lacks ; she thinks only of 
the new world that is opened to her, and it makes 
her the happiest of children." 

"Mamma," said May, as they rode home, "the 
Lord does n't do for us all in the same way, does 
He ? I think I know now what the text means. 
It does not mean that we shall think of our trials, 
but of our blessings. If we do so, we shall soon 
see what great things He has really done for us." 

"You are quite right, my dear May," answered 
her mother. " He has done and is doing more for 
us all each day than we ever give thought of. If 
we will look about we shall see it on every hand. 
Shall we not try to serve Him, and show our grati- 
tude by trying to see the bright things of life and 
by putting them into the lives of other people ? " 



The original of this story is Helen Keller, a little girl now 
nine years old. She is a native of Tuscumbia, Alabama, and 



76 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

visited the Perkins Institution for the Blind in South Bos- 
ton in the summer of 1888. The accounts of her training 
and wonderful development, given by Mr. Anagnos and her 
teacher in the annual report of that institution, would ap- 
pear incredible were they printed as a magazine story. 
Her progress has far outstripped that of the celebrated Laura 
Bridgman, and so far she has no equal among her afflicted 
class. The change in her is the miracle of night transformed 
to day. 



Third Sunday in August. 

"Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord, 
he hath rejected thee from being hingP 

"HPMIE most difficult discerning of a man's dream 
X from his thoughts," says Master Hobbes, in 
his great book which he rightly calls the " Leviathan," 
" is when by some accident we observe not that we 
have slept ; which is easy to happen to a man full 
of fearful thoughts, and whose conscience is much 
troubled, and that sleepeth without putting off his 
clothes, as one that noddeth in a chair." Of which 
he again writes : " And this is no very rare acci- 
dent; for even they that be perfectly awake, if 
they be timorous and superstitious, possessed with 
fearful tales and alone in the dark, are subject to 
the like fancies, and believe they see spirits and 
dead men's ghosts walking in churchyards ; whereas 
it is either their fancy only, or else the knavery of 
such persons as make use of superstitious fear to 
pass disguised in the night to places they would 
not be known to haunt." 

And many times, surely, have I thought the same 
thing myself; for here, and also in Devonshire, 
are many idle legends as to fairies and pixies and 
spirits, and such like foolish thoughts, whereof I 



78 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

would say, with Master Hobbes, that what proofs 
there may be of them are either fancy or knavery. 
But in some matters, doubtless, there may be vis- 
ions or appearances of actual beings not of this 
earth to one man and yet not to any others ; as we 
read that the Apostle Paul himself saw our Lord ; 
while his companions saw him not. And such 
sights have been noted by me in my own experi- 
ence, and notably as here follows at length a little 
later. Which story I tell as it were out of my own 
experience, for I knew the young man well, having 
been with him much from his youth upward, and 
having grounded him in the doctrines, and often 
disputed with him on vexed questions. 

This young man was by name Samuel Deane, 
and he had been a fisher by trade as his father had 
been before him, who had been also a wrecker, as 
are most of the fishermen here in Cornwall. But 
Samuel being grown to a goodly age, his father 
being drowned and his mother having been long 
dead, lived not far from my house in Marazion, but 
he lived without the town near the beach. And 
from that house he followed his trade of fisherman, 
though he had in his mind a longing to be not a 
fisher of fish but of men. For he was toward and 
well instructed by me, and a close scholar, though 
often too fanciful in his notions. And he was once 
called in the night by the Lord, as was that other 
Samuel the prophet. And when he heard the voice 



HE HATH REJECTED THEE. 79 

he knew that it was the Lord, and so rose up and 
went out of his house down to the beach. 

And he looked up and down the beach and out 
to sea, wondering what work the Lord had in hand 
for him. It was a very low tide, and the sea was 
very calm, so that the waves merely lapped gently 
on the beach ; and the moon was a full moon, and 
was now within a few hours of setting. To the 
left of him was the beach stretching away to the 
town, and to the right the beach rounded away in a 
crescent, until it came to the great mass of rock 
which is called Mount St. Michael, which lies a 
good distance out to sea, but at very low tide a spit 
of sand runs out to it. 

Now, this rocky mount had on its very top in 
ancient times a monastery, which was founded, as 
is said, through the command of Saint Michael, 
who appeared in a dream to one Ethelred, who 
lived long since, when much of this land was pagan. 
So on the top of this great rock was built a monas- 
tery for monks, and the monks dwelt there and 
praised God all their days. And in the times of 
storm they gathered together, and sang psalms all 
night, and prayed for those at sea ; for the sea is 
dangerous in these parts, and after a storm there 
now drift ashore some few bodies, and so in those 
days, as is most likely. But the monks live there 
no longer, nor anywhere else in England now for 
many years, the Lord be thanked, and the monas- 



80 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

tery is in ruins, though some of the walls are 
still standing. And no one lives on St. Michael's 
Mount except those sea-birds which make their 
abode in such places, and these have made their 
nests about the ruins of the altar, as I am told, as 
well as elsewhere. But, as I had meant to say, 
there are many in these parts who affirm that they 
have heard, in a storm, the chant of the monks 
on Mount St. Michael, and that they have seen 
lights in the windows. All which are foolish, and 
such as were spoken of by Master Hobbes, who 
called them timorous and superstitious. 

Now Samuel, looking toward the mount, saw the 
moonlight shining through the windows of the 
ruined chapel, and he turned himself toward it 
and walked along the beach to get to the mount, 
for it was borne in upon him that he should go 
thither. 

And as he walked thither he saw the vision of 
that mount as I have often read of it in books, but 
have never seen one, save Samuel, who hath seen it. 
For he saw upon a pinnacle of the rock the form 
of the Archangel Michael, standing with a great 
sheathed sword in his hand, and he was looking 
seaward. On his head was a starry helmet, and he 
had six wings, which shone and glistened in the 
night, as he stood upon the rocky pinnacle. And 
one pair came from his shoulders covering his 
breast, and another girded him about the waist, 






HE HATH EEJECTED THEE. 81 

and the third were folded upon his feet, and he 
looked ever seaward. 

Now the reason why the Archangel Michael 
stands on this rock (whence it is called St. Michael's 
Mount) is doubtless, as it seems to me, this : He 
stands on this mount with his eyes turned seaward 
that he may always look toward Spain, and so guard 
the Church of God in these parts from Spain and 
from the Antichrist, who hath his chief power in 
her. For doubtless the guardianship of the Church 
is given to Michael, and he is its defender against 
the Devil. And he hath a great two-handed sword, 
of which the Devil is afraid lest he be smitten 
therewith. And now here at this Land's End of 
England is the only place in this island where one 
may look straight across the sea to Spain. So the 
Archangel stands on this mount, ever looking at 
Namancos and the hold of Bayona, that he may 
guard the Church in this island from any such 
attack as was in the year 1588, when the great 
Armada, blasphemously thought and called "The 
Invincible/-' came from that country against these 
kingdoms, and the great fleet sailed up the Channel 
in the shape of a crescent moon, thinking that they 
might subdue these kingdoms to the dominion of 
Antichrist. But the English ships, in one of which 
I was, hung ever on their rear, and drove them 
through the Narrow Seas, until the winds of the 
Lord seized them and drove them northward, where 

6 



82 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

they were cast upon the rocks, and so most perished. 
And therefore is it, as I think, that the Archangel 
Michael looks now ever toward Spain > and that he 
has ever in his hand his two-edged sword. 

And such was the nature of this great vision of 
the guarded mount as Samuel saw it, walking in the 
night. And we may well believe that it was a true 
vision, and that the Lord did in this case open his 
eyes ; for, as I have shown, this is the best place for 
Michael to stand, since he must ever look at Spain, 
and you will see why it was the meaning of the 
Lord that Samuel should see that vision. 

But as he walked along to the great rock, the 
vision vanished, and Samuel saw it no more. He 
walked along the beach and out on the spit of 
land to the rock, and climbed upon it ; for he had 
often clambered all over it as a boy and as a man, 
and now in the moonlight he could easily climb it, 
and so he reached the top and came to a hollow 
which is falsely called St. Michael's Chair. I say 
falsely so called, because it was not here that Samuel 
saw the Archangel, but on a pinnacle farther to the 
south and a little lower, — a place where no man's 
foot ever trod. Samuel, however, sat in this hollow 
and looked over the sea in the moonlight and waited 
to see what word the Lord might have for him. 

And he waited there all that night, and as he sat, 
his mind ran ever to one matter ; namely, the perse- 
cutions of the saints in these regions. For now for 



HE HATH REJECTED THEE. 83 

many years we in Cornwall have heard news of how 
the professors of religion have been persecuted by 
those calling themselves ministers in the Church. 
It is certainly a strange matter, and one not to be 
wholly understood. But there is no doubt that 
the shepherds of God's flocks in these kingdoms 
feed not his sheep, but are become hirelings which 
care not for the sheep, as is written in John, the 
tenth chapter and the twelfth verse. And they 
care for nothing but themselves, to see that they 
have some fat living, whence they may draw them 
large fishes and small. And, indeed, the Church is 
given up to these hirelings, so that such as would 
revert to the purity of the Scriptures do now under- 
go many whippings and torturings and scourgings. 
And some have been branded with* irons, and some 
have had their ears cut off, and some have had their 
noses slit, and many have stood in the stocks, and 
in the pillory, and at the cart's tail, while they were 
scourged, — all of which is done, as we hear, in the 
name of the king, and that wrongly ; for the king 
would not -have countenanced such things had he 
known of them. But now all have come to blows, 
and the kingdom is in great confusion, and we know 
not what is to happen ; for here in Cornwall we hear 
little news, and so know not what has lately come 
to pass. And of all these things Samuel thought as 
he sat in the hollow of the rock at the top of Mount 
St. Michael. And particularly he thought of the 



84 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

most unhappy divisions in the Church, and wondered 
in his heart how they could have come about. For 
he thought to himself that it could not well be that 
the king should have suffered such things had they 
come to his knowledge ; and yet he saw that now 
were the professors of the purity of the Scriptures 
ranged against the king, and that in arms. And 
this misliked him, for he could not think it right to 
take up arms against the anointed of the Lord, for 
he thought : " If he be the Lord's anointed, how can 
the saints lift their hand against him ? " But again : 
" If he be the Lord's anointed, how is it that the 
saints have been smitten through his word ? " Nor 
did he find any answer for these communings and 
questionings. 

And so the night passed, and also the next day, 
as he sat there, and it became night again ; and yet 
Samuel had no word from the Lord. The moon 
rose again, and the sea again became very calm. So 
the time went by, until it was at the same hour in 
which Samuel had first seen the Archangel upon 
the rock. And at that hour he looked, and sud- 
denly again he saw the Vision standing upon the 
pinnacle, holding his two-handed sword, with his 
face fixed still seaward, as though upon Spain. 
And when Samuel saw the Vision, the Lord came 
to him, and he cried out with a loud voice : " Look 
homeward, Angel, now ; look homeward, for the 
need is very sore." And with that he saw the 



HE HATH REJECTED THEE. 85 

figure turn about so that he looked inland. And 
the Archangel Michael drew forth his two-handed 
sword from his sheath, and so vanished suddenly 
away. And Samuel heard behind a chorus of 
voices, as though they were monks in the monas- 
tery, singing together : " He hath put down the 
mighty from his seat, and hath exalted them of low 
degree." So in the morning he went down from 
the mount and returned to his own house. 

And he took the Bible from the shelf, and sat 
down to read in the First Book of Samuel, and the 
third chapter. But as he read, there came to him 
the old woman who was his housekeeper ; for she 
had feared for him, since he had not come to his 
house for a long time, nor had his boat been taken 
out. So she asked him where he had been, and 
he replied to her courteously. But as he looked 
up in speaking, it happened that a couple of pages 
in the Bible turned over as the book lay on his 
knees, so that when he looked down again he read, 
not in the third chapter, but in the fifteenth, where 
it is written : " Because thou hast rejected the word 
of the Lord, he hath rejected thee from being king." 
And with that it was borne in upon him that he 
should go up to London and announce this word to 
King Charles. 

So the next morning he took his way for Lon- 
don, where he supposed the king to be, having 
spoken to me about the matter, and having related 



86 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

to me the happenings of the night, and of the night 
before, as I have set them down more at large 
above. And I saw him not for very many days ; 
nevertheless I can tell those things which befell 
him, for he hath often told me of them, and I have 
by me a letter which he wrote concerning some of 
the things which happened to him. 

He journeyed on foot for a good number of days, 
revolving in his mind all that he had seen and 
heard from the Lord, and thinking of how the 
Lord meant that this message should be delivered. 
And it was his thought that the Lord commanded 
him to go in to the king as he sat on his throne, 
and cry out upon him, and deliver to him that 
message. So he made his way toward London, 
knowing not, at first, that the king had been driven 
forth from his palace at Whitehall, and that he was 
now in arms against the saints ; for we in Corn- 
wall know and hear little of what goes on in the 
world, and most of those in these parts hold by the 
king. But Samuel, finding that the king was not 
in London, bent his steps toward the king's camp, 
that was now to the north with his army; so 
thither he followed him. 

And after a good time, coming along near by the 
town of Naseby, he was apprehended by a number 
of such as seemed Parliament men. He had seen 
not a few of them before ; but having ever avoided 
them, as well as the king's friends, he had suffered 



HE HATH EEJECTED THEE. 87 

no let. But now they bade him come along with 
them, and so brought him to their leader, who sat 
in front of a thatched cottage, while the horses 
were fastened along by the hedge, and a number of 
troopers lay near by on the grass. 

The captain asked Samuel what was his name and 
his business ; and he told him what was his name, 
and that his desire was to get to Harborough Mar- 
ket, where he had heard the king then was. So the 
captain said to him that he might not go thither, for 
that it was their business to prevent all joining the 
king or bearing him aid. And Samuel said that he 
was not to bear aid to the king, but to deliver a 
message to him. And the captain asked him what 
was that message ; whereat he was silent, for it 
seemed to him that the message was to be deliv- 
ered to the king, and not to another. But when 
the captain urged him, he told him what the mes- 
sage was. And the captain heard him in silence, 
looking into his face, and then looked steadfastly on 
the ground for a time, pushing at the turf where he 
looked with the heel of his boot. 

Then he raised his head after some minutes, and 
said : " Thou sayest rightly, Samuel, that the 
Lord hath given thee this word to speak to the 
king ; but thou knowest not the way in which thou 
shalt speak it. For thou hadst the thought in thy 
mind that to thee alone did the Lord send this 
message, that thou mightest speak it to the king ; 



88 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

but I say unto thee that not to thee only, but over 
the length and breadth of England, has gone this 
message of the Lord, — so that there are many 
who have risen up even in the night seasons, and 
hasted that they might deliver it to him, even as 
thou. But the Lord doth not purpose that any 
one man shall give that message to Charles Stuart ; 
but for the glory of his name he hath raised up 
thousands, who shall cry out that word into the 
ears of the man of sin, until he fall from the place 
which he hath defiled. And to cry that cry have 
these men gathered whom thou seest with steel 
coats on them and jack-boots. And to cry that cry 
are there now gathered together near Naseby field 
some twenty thousand more, whom we shall join 
to-morrow. And now thou hast come. Therefore 
join thou with us, for thou hast no farther to 
go ; and to-morrow thou shalt say thy message 
to Charles Stuart with some thousands more, who 
have it also in their hearts that since he hath 
rejected the word of the Lord, the Lord shall re- 
ject him from being king, as is written in First 
Samuel. And we shall ride down into the vintage 
until the wine shall flow about the horse bridles, 
and we will tread out the winepress according to 
the word of the Lord. And we shall cry out that 
cry with an exceeding loud voice into the ears of 
the man of sin, that it may ring there until the 
Day of Judgment ! " 



HE HATH REJECTED THEE. 89 

And with that he ceased speaking, only saying, 
" How is it, Samuel ? " And the young man said, 
" Even as thou sayest." So they got him a buff- coat 
and a breastplate and all things that were needful, 
for some of their number had been lately slain. 
And they mounted him on a horse (whereat I know 
that he feared, but he has told me that in time he 
could ride him well), and they rode into the camp. 
And Samuel rested that night in the tent of the 
captain. 

And of what followed I will show by a letter 
which he wrote me as here followeth: — 

To my assured friend, Mr. Trevicthick, at his house at 
Marazion ; These : 

Harborottgh Market, 14 June, 1645. 

My dear and reverend Sir, — I have now delivered 
the message that you wot of, but not as I fondly im- 
agined, of which you yourself know. For such was not 
the Lord's will, as was yesterday made plain to me. 
And in truth who was I, that T should be the one in all 
England to fulfil the Lord's purpose when there are 
thousands of others'? But at that time I knew no 
better. 

So not alone did I deliver the word of the Lord, but 
with the army of the saints who rode into battle 
against Charles Stuart on Naseby field, and cried out 
that cry against him, so that it hath since sounded from 
one end of England even to the other, even to the Land's 
End in Cornwall, where doubtless you have heard of 



90 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Naseby fight, and of how Charles Stuart has fled away 
from his army and will soon be overtaken and captured. 
So no more now from 

Your friend and son, 

Samuel Deane. 

And now there is one more thing to tell, and it is 
this : As Samuel slept that night before the battle 
in the captain's tent, the word of the Lord again 
came to him and said to him, " Samuel." And he 
said, " Here am I," and arose. And he was led 
out from the camp to a hill which overlooked a 
field, and beyond it Harborough town, where the 
king's army lay encamped. And Samuel stood 
upon the hill and looked at the town over against 
him. And as he looked he seemed to hear a 
rushing of winds in the heavens, as of a great flight 
of birds, but saw nothing. But in a little he saw 
a form standing as it were in the air over the town. 
And behold it was the form of the Archangel 
Michael, as he had seen him upon the pinnacle at 
St. Michael's Mount; and in his hand was that 
great two-handed sword, and his face was as the 
face of one in wrath. 



Fourth Sunday in August. 

"Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the 
Lord looketh on the heart" 

FAB away in an obscure corner of the earth was 
the land of the Gulguls ; and a lovely spot 
it was. The sun was shining most of the time, and 
when it did rain it was always in the middle of the 
night. So the children could always play all day 
long, and it was understood that for a thousand 
years no picnic had ever been postponed. 

Now, in this country there lived two locksmiths, 
the name of the one being Noggins, and of the other 
Happum. 

Noggins was a most fortunate man. He had 
been blessed with a beautiful face and figure, and 
his popularity was undoubted. As he walked along 
the street, people would turn to watch " the hand- 
some locksmith," as he was called, and those who 
were among his friends were proud to meet him on 
the public thoroughfare. 

This popularity was even shared in by his chil- 
dren, who were proud of belonging to the family of 
such a distinguished man as Noggins ; and as they 
walked about they held their heads as high as did 



92 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

their father, — that is, in proportion to their respec- 
tive height. 

By virtue of this popularity Noggins's business 
was most successful, and from morning to night he 
sold locks and keys, for which he received large 
sums of money. 

But notwithstanding all this good fortune Nog- 
gins was not a good man. He never went to church 
on a Sunday ; and though he sometimes subscribed 
to charities to please the popular taste, he always 
did so with great reluctance and heart-burning. 
Besides this, though no one was aware of it, he was 
not always honest in his dealings, and a consuming 
thirst for gain often led him into secret dishonesty. 

Happum, on the other hand, was a man opposite 
in almost every particular to Noggins. Unfortu- 
nately he was a humpback, and whenever he ap- 
peared upon the street men would look at him 
askance, and the boys would shout at him derisively, 
while the little girls would run from him in terror. 
Added to this, his hair was a fiery red, and he was 
blind in one eye, so that his general appearance was 
far from attractive. But nevertheless Happum 
was a man of a naturally cheerful disposition, and 
though he disliked exceedingly to be a humpback, 
he bore his lot and his hump in a most Christian- 
like manner. " Only think," he would say, " how 
much more fortunate I am than the poor camels 
They too have humps, but they have not all these 



MAN LOOKETH ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE. 93 

powers of mind which I enjoy ; and then they are al- 
ways ruled over, while I am always my own master, 
And what is more than all, there are camels which 
have two humps, and when men ride upon them 
they have all three, while I have but one," And 
as he sat at his work, he would often sing this little 
song, which always made him feel quite happy : — 

" 1 5 ve my hump and red hair, 
And my right eye is out. 
But although people stare 
At my hump and red hair, 
It is little I care 
What they 're staring about. 
I 've a hump and red hair, 
And my right eye is out." 

Like Noggins, Happum worked hard in his little 
shop, but the customers did not come in very often ; 
and though he was a most skilful workman, and 
made keys and locks of most beautiful patterns, he 
often found it difficult to earn enough to supply him 
with the simplest livelihood. 

Happum was a man of the deepest religious feel- 
ing. His happiest hours were spent in the little 
church on the hillside, just above his shop ; and 
as he sat crouched up in his little seat in a dark 
corner of the church, the poor man almost forgot 
his hard lot, and with the first notes of the solemn 
organ, all gloomy thoughts of his weak, misshapen 
body would be swept away. 



94 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

It was seldom that he had any money for his own 
bodily wants, so that it was really impossible for 
him to give alms to the poor ; but he often spent 
an afternoon reading aloud to poor fellows in the 
Blind Asylum ; and it was there that he had his 
best friends, for no one could see him there, and 
so he was simply known by his voice. 

Now the king of this country was a man of great 
renown, whose name was Bulgum. He was a very 
good king, and greatly loved by his subjects ; but 
among his many good qualities, justice seemed pre- 
eminent. He never would allow personal feeling 
to affect his public measures, and he would listen to 
his meanest dependent with the same deference 
which he paid to his most honored courtier. 

As the years passed by, and the country grew 
more and more prosperous, Bulgum, as was natural, 
grew enormously rich, and he found it necessary to 
have some suitable place to store away all his 
wealth. So he built two large treasure-houses, in 
one of which he meant to put his gold and precious 
stones, and in the other his silver and plate. And 
when all the building was finished, King Bulgum 
ordered his coach, and drove in state to Noggins' s 
workshop, to order a strong lock, that his treasures 
might be safe. But as he drove along, his eye 
chanced to fall on Happum, as he sat working at the 
door, and he thought to himself: " Now, why should 
I not buy one of my locks from this poor man, for 



MAN LOOKETH ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE. 95 

he surely seems to need help ; and then I shall buy 
the other lock from Noggins." So he alighted from 
his chariot and told Happum about his treasure- 
house, and asked him if he could make a lock and 
key which would combine the qualities of great 
strength and consummate beauty. Happum, of 
course, was overjoyed, and assured the king that he 
would do his best to satisfy him. 

So Bulgum drove off to Noggins's store, where he 
ordered the other lock, which Noggins promised to 
make for him immediately. The king then returned 
home, well pleased with his afternoon's shopping. 

Happum in the mean time was still sitting at his 
shop door, overjoyed with his good fortune. " For," 
said he to himself, " if I make a beautiful lock and 
key for the king, perhaps he may want others. And 
then perhaps the queen may want a lock for her 
jewel-case. And then the little princes, — of course 
they too must have locks, and why should not I 
make them ? " And he felt so happy, as he built 
these castles in the air, that he sang his little song 
over and. over again, in his sweet quavering voice. 
But this time Happum sang a second verse, which 
he had spent some time in composing, and which 
seemed to him quite beautiful : — 



' Though I 'm not very tall, 
Yet I 'm quite tall enough. 
And just think, when you fall, 
When you 're not very tall, 



96 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

It won't hurt you at all, 

Though the ground 's hard and rough ; 

No, I 'm not very tall, 

But I 'm quite tall enough.'* 

And as he sang, the passers-by stopped and looked 
at him, evidently to their great amusement. But 
Happum scarcely noticed them as he sang, but 
worked away until the sun sank below the steeple 
of the little church on the hillside. 

The next day he set to work on the new lock, and 
at last he hit upon a construction which pleased 
him very much, and as he was a hard worker, he 
soon had it finished. 

Noggins also had finished his lock, but, unlike 
Happum, he made two keys, one of which he 
secreted in his strong-box, thinking in his wicked 
heart that it might prove of service to him at some 
other time. I am sorry to say that Noggins 
often did this, as it enabled him to enrich himself 
greatly without any one's knowledge. Often he 
would sell locks to jewellers and goldsmiths, and 
it was seldom that these sales did not yield him 
a good deal more than the mere price of the lock 
and key. 

Now, when Noggins heard that Happum was also 
going to make a lock for the king, he thought to 
himself, " Is n't this too bad ! Happum will make 
this lock, and I shall not be able even to look into 
the silver treasure-house, far less make away with 



MAN LOOKETH ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE. 97 

any of the contents." He finally made up his mind 
that he must have the keys to both treasure-houses, 
no matter what happened. 

Accordingly he made his way to Happum's 
house ; and he, like Bulgum, found the poor fellow 
at work before his door. 

" Ah, Happum," said Noggins, " I hear that our 
good luck is double, — that you too have been em- 
ployed by the king to make a protection for his 
treasure-house." 

" Yes," said Happum, rather pleased by this fine 
speech, — " yes, Noggins, so I have. And it is only 
just now that I finished the key." 

" Eeally ? " said Noggins. " Well, do you know, 
Happum, I thought, that as I was coming this way, 
I would bring along my key to show you, as I feel 
that in this piece of work we are acting together 
in a way." 

Happum was much pleased at this appearance of 
friendship, and thought it only right that he too 
should show his key to Noggins, which he accord- 
ingly did. 

Now, Noggins had put a large piece of soft wax 
in his pocket ; and so, when Happum's attention was 
turned, he took it out and made upon it a deep im- 
pression of Happum's key. Having done this, he 
put the wax back again into his pocket. He then 
carefully rubbed the key with his glove, to remove 
all pieces of wax that could possibly have stuck to 

7 



98 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

it ; this he did because he had read so many books 
in which large pieces of wax always stuck to keys 
from which impressions were taken, thereby con- 
victing whomever the authors deemed best. 

After the necessary complimentary remarks were 
made about each other's workmanship, the two 
parted, — Happum to his frugal supper, Noggins to 
his house. 

The treasure-houses had now been completed for 
some time, and one dark and rainy night Noggins 
crept noiselessly from his house and made his way 
towards the palace. In his pocket were both the 
keys ; and so, when he came to the treasure-houses, 
he took both in his hand, wondering which he 
should use. He finally decided upon Happum's, 
partly because he wanted some silver plate, and 
partly because he wanted to try his false key. 
The key worked perfectly, and in a moment he was 
standing in the midst of heaps of treasure, both 
money and silver plate. Now, Noggins had a shrewd 
head upon his shoulders, so he determined not to 
take away much at a time, lest it should be missed. 
Accordingly he picked up a little silver pitcher that 
pleased his fancy, and made his way out again. 
Not content with this robbery, he then stole home 
like a thief in the night. 

Now, it chanced that Bulgum had placed that 
little pitcher among his treasures only that very 



MAN LOOKETH ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE. 99 

morning; and the next day he thought that he 
would take it away again, as his children wanted 
it at their tea-table. But when the king looked 
for it, it was nowhere to be found. High and low 
he searched, but alas ! no pitcher. 

As there were no windows to this treasure-house, 
and the walls were very thick, Bulgum wisely con- 
cluded that the robber must have come in by the 
door; and as the door showed no signs of having 
been opened by force, he again wisely concluded 
that it must have been opened by means of a 
key. But who had used the key ? That was the 
question. 

As Happum had made the key, perhaps it was 
he, thought Bulgum ; and so he ordered his chariot 
and drove off to the little locksmith's. 

But Happum was "not at home," said the old 
beldam who opened the door. He had spent the 
afternoon at the Blind Asylum, and had stayed 
there all night to take the place of one of the 
nurses who had to be away. Upon hearing this, 
the king was sorry that he had suspected Happum, 
and drove home, feeling still more perplexed about 
the pitcher. He subsequently offered large re- 
wards for its return, but to no avail. Bulgum 
then decided to set a large man-trap outside his 
treasure-house ; but although he caught several great 
dogs and stray cows and an old blind horse, he 
was unable to catch the thief. 



100 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

But one night, feeling restless, he dressed himself, 
and decided, like Haroun al Easchid, to walk about 
the city. He accordingly summoned his prime 
minister, whom we might call his grand vizier, and 
started for the palace. 

But the two had gone but a short distance when 
they saw a figure stealthily approaching the treas- 
ure-houses. The king and his companion crouched 
down upon the ground, so as to attract no notice, 
and saw the figure enter the building in which was 
the golden treasure. As quickly as was possible, 
Bulgum called some of his guard, and in a short 
time the trembling thief was found behind a heap 
of gold. To every one's surprise it proved to be 
Noggins, who was dragged most unceremoniously 
before the king. 

Noggins begged hard for his life, which was 
granted him. But the next day Bulgum had a 
dungeon made under the golden treasure-house, 
where Noggins was placed, and where he spent the 
remainder of his days. 

Happum, by this change of affairs, became rapidly 
more fortunate in business, and as people began to 
know him better he grew more and more popular, 
until it was said that men often bought locks of 
him for the mere pleasure of speaking to him and 
of hearing his merry voice. 

Bulgum was one of his customers ; and he finally 
became so pleased with Happum, and so convinced 



MAN LOOKETH ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE. 101 

of his good sense and sound knowledge, that he 
asked him to become his principal adviser and 
prime minister. 

This little tale, besides showing us how vice is 
punished and virtue is rewarded, is intended also 
to point out how little we can judge a man from 
what we see of his daily life, and how a seemingly 
plain and disagreeable exterior may conceal what 
is most attractive and beautiful. 



First Sunday in September. 

" If God be for us, ivJw can be against us ? " 

ALONG, long time ago, in one of the smiling 
valleys of France, there was an old castle. 
It was built all of stone, and its threatening appear- 
ance stood out in strong contrast to the sunny 
meadows and green hillsides which lay around it. 
In this castle, or chateau, as the French call it, 
there lived a knight, Sir Hugh Des Fontaines, with 
his wife and their little son Guy. Guy was a 
sturdy little fellow, and from his earliest years was 
fond of wandering about in search of adventures. 
When he was but ten years old, there was not a 
precipice, cave, or bowlder in all the country round 
that he did not know and had not visited. 

As Guy grew older, he was delighted with every 
sport requiring courage and skill. He and the 
neighboring lads used to have contests with wooden 
swords and shields, in imitation of the more serious 
battles in which their fathers took part. Guy was 
quite the hero of these encounters ; often he would 
split his antagonist's shield with a single blow, 
thus giving him no chance of safety excepting that 
which lay in ignoble flight. 



104 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

In those days there was not much studying be- 
sides the study of war; but Guy, by great good 
luck, had an instructor, in the person of an old 
priest, who, though he could put little knowledge 
into the young scatterbrain's head, lodged some 
sound principles of virtue there. In after-life Guy 
often regretted his want of learning, and prized as 
they deserved the lessons in goodness which the 
old priest had taught him. Morality was not at 
that time commonly studied, and few reached a 
high standard in it ; but Guy learned to tell the 
truth, to fear no man, and to do as nearly as he 
could what God wished him to do. "Tor if you 
have God on your side," Father Peter used to say, 
" you may tell the truth and yet fear no man." 

When Guy was twenty-five years old, he was the 
finest young man in all the country-side. He was 
tall and slender, and sO graceful in all his move- 
ments that he never seemed to be obliged to make 
an effort. He had long yellow hair, that flowed 
down over his shoulders. That seems strange now- 
adays ; but at that time all the young men wore 
their hair so, and if they had seen you and me they 
would have thought us perfect frights. Guy looked 
very grand, I can tell you, when he went about 
over the country dressed from head to foot in 
shining armor, and mounted upon a fine black war- 
horse. Many a laborer would look up from his 
work, and many a maiden would peep out, half 



IF GOD BE FOR US, WHO CAN BE AGAINST US ? 105 

afraid, from her casement, when Guy Des Fontaines 
came riding by. 

Now, at this time there was a great excitement 
throughout France, and it was caused by the preach- 
ing of Peter the Hermit, — a man not at all like 
Guy's Father Peter. He was small and insignifi- 
cant-looking, but somehow his preaching set every 
one crazy. He told of how the pilgrims who trav- 
elled to Jerusalem were plundered, beaten, yes, 
and sometimes killed outright, by the Saracens 
who had possession of Palestine. Then he told 
how it was the duty of every good Christian to 
save the Holy City, the place where our Saviour 
had lived, out of the hand of the infidel. And his 
enthusiasm would take such hold of his audience 
that they would throw up their caps and shout, 
" God wills it ! " and many of them would go home 
and make their preparations to go on the long 
journey to Palestine, — the Crusade, as it was 
called, — and leave their dear wives and children, 
so that they might redeem the Holy City. 

Now, Guy was a young man, and easily excited ; 
so, when the others threw up their caps, Guy, who 
had come a long way to hear Peter, threw up his 
cap too, and cried, " God wills it ! " But when the 
speech was over, and he was riding home through 
the lengthening shadows of the evening, he began 
to reason within himself as to whether, after all, 
God did will that all these people should leave 



106 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

their wives and sisters and children alone and 
defenceless, so as to go thousands of miles away, to 
fight for a place they had never seen. Then he 
thought of the poor pilgrims who were so hardly 
used, and knew not whether the Crusade was right 
or no. 

When he reached home he had a long talk with 
his father. Sir Hugh said that he himself was too 
old now to go off on such a wild expedition ; but it 
would please him very much if Guy would go, to 
keep up the honor of the family, — though he was 
loath to part with his son. Then Guy went and 
asked Father Peter, who was very old and feeble 
now, for his advice. And Father Peter thought a 
long time, and then, looking up at the young man, 
said, " Go, my son ; for the Lord has need of such 
young men as thou." So Guy went. He spent a 
week in preparations ; then he bade good-by to his 
father and mother, and started forth at the head of 
fifteen men-at-arms, some of whom had been his 
playfellows in the days of the wooden shields. 
They rode eastward to join Godfrey of Bouillon, 
who was to lead the Christians against the un- 
believers. 

After a long journey they reached the great 
rendezvous where the armies of Christendom were 
collecting before they went out to battle. Guy 
had never beheld such a vast throng of armed men 
before ; and now he was filled with wonder when he 



IF GOD BE FOE US, WHO CAN BE AGAINST US ? 107 

saw the great camp full of knights and squires, 
priests and monks, pages and* men-at-arms. As his 
little party breasted a neighboring hill, and the 
whole splendor of the scene burst upon them, Guy 
was filled with a sense of pride and exultation as 
he saw the morning sun glancing on thousands of 
breastplates and headpieces. " With such a host," 
thought he, " we shall soon drive the Saracens from 
the Holy City." 

It was a long time before the great army was 
ready to set out ; but at last they began their march, 
with trumpets sounding and standards flying. For 
the first few days it was a triumphal journey ; then 
it began to grow tedious and finally wearisome. 
Every morning Guy had to raise his aching limbs 
from his resting-place, — generally the ground, — 
mount his great black horse, which was as tired as 
he, and ride wearily on. There was a great deal of 
complaining ; the food was bad, the weather was bad, 
the roads were bad ; but Guy would not find fault, 
for he felt that they were going on the Lord's er- 
rand, and who was he, to complain of the weariness 
of the journey on which the Lord had sent him ? 
And when he thought of these things, his heart 
grew lighter, and his tired limbs seemed more sup- 
ple, and the sky brighter. Then the hearts of the 
weary Crusaders who rode near him would be glad- 
dened when they saw his cheerful bearing and 
pleasant smile. 



108 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

Now, you must know that although this great 
army was a Christian army, on its march to wrest 
Jerusalem from the infidels, there were many 
wicked and cruel men in it just as there are in 
other armies. There was but a small supply of 
provisions, so the Crusaders had to get their food 
as they went along, and many deeds of robbery and 
violence were done. These things made Guy very 
sad, for he knew that if the army did not have 
the Lord on its side it would inevitably go to ruin. 
So he reasoned with his comrades as much as he 
could ; and some were persuaded, and dealt gently 
with the country folk, while others did not heed 
his words. " We must have food," said they, and 
cared not how they got it. 

After many delays, and with lessened numbers, 
the Christian army reached Asia Minor; and 
there they fought many battles, now victorious, 
now discouraged, but ever drawing nearer and 
nearer to their goal, Jerusalem. Guy was ever 
in the fore-front of the battle, for he had learned 
in his youth that he who fears God need not fear 
man. His tall form on his great black steed came 
to be known and dreaded among the Saracens, 
though they too were mighty warriors. So again 
and again he fought by the side of Godfrey and 
Tancred and the other Christian champions. And 
now and again, as he swept his great sword around 
with terrible effect, he would cry, " God wills 



IF GOD BE FOR US, WHO CAN BE AGAINST US ? 109 

it!" and would gain renewed strength from the 
words. 

Often in the starry night he lay awake and won- 
dered how all this would end. He would have felt 
sure of victory, were it not for the many wicked 
men in the Christian army who did not love God 
nor serve him. Even as he lay there, he could 
hear their sounds of revelry, as they sat near by, 
singing wild songs and drinking deeply. Then 
perhaps he would see where, by the dim light 
of a lamp, Godfrey, and Tancred, and Eaymond 
of Toulouse were devising a plan of battle 
for the next day. " They, at least, are godly 
men," he would say to himself, and would fall 
asleep. 

Finally they reached Jerusalem. As the great 
host came in sight of the Holy City, they bowed 
the knee in silent adoration of their Maker. The 
next day they began the attack. Fierce was the 
assault, but fiercer still the defence. The Saracens 
fought like madmen, and by night they repaired 
the breaches made by day. So the hot summer 
days went by, till one evening Godfrey heard that 
the enemy were soon to receive reinforcements. 
That night he sent word all through the camp that 
a final attack was to be made the next morning, 
and that on the morrow they must conquer or die. 
All the evening Guy's squire sat polishing up the 
armor that was so bright when they left home and 



110 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

which had grown so tarnished and indented now ; 
and then he and Guy went to sleep. 

Next morning the sun rose bright and clear, and 
was reflected in the shining armor of the Crusaders. 
The whole force advanced on different sides to 
storm the city. Well might the Saracens tremble 
when they saw the Christians marching against 
them, for this time the watchword was, " Conquer 
or die ! " Guy rode in the van. He was a veteran 
warrior now ; but to-day he felt something of the 
awful excitement which possessed him before his 
first battle. This day was to decide the fate of the 
Christian army ; and Guy, with the rest, made up 
his mind that he would sleep in Jerusalem, or that 
the stars would shine down that night upon his 
dead body as it lay stretched upon the plain. 

At a point about a furlong from the city all the 
riders dismounted, and the serried mass of Crusad- 
ers under Godfrey marched steadily forward on foot 
toward a great breach in the wall. There was the 
main point of attack, and the Saracens were there 
in force to keep the Christians out. On rushed God- 
frey against the living mass of the enemy; on 
rushed Guy, whirling his great sword above his 
head. There was a shock, a pause, and the baffled 
Christians fell back, only to charge again and yet 
again. Higher and higher rose the sun. The heat 
was intolerable, but still the fighting kept on, — ■ 
the Christians now rushing fiercely upon the 



IF GOD BE FOR US, WHO CAN BE AGAINST US ? Ill 

enemy, now pressed backwards in disorderly- 
retreat. 

When the afternoon came on, there was a pause. 
After such a struggle the combatants must rest. 
Godfrey of Bouillon, surrounded by his councillors, 
was planning another attack. Guy, with his un- 
sheathed sword in his hand, was resting upon a 
great stone. He was tired, oh, so tired ! It seemed 
as though he must soon faint from sheer exhaus- 
tion. The Christians, scattered over the plain, were 
weary and discouraged. Was this the gallant army 
that had determined to conquer or die ? 

All at once there was silence in the Christian 
ranks. Every one was quiet, for Godfrey was about 
to speak. " Soldiers of the Cross ! " he cried in a 
voice like a trumpet, " shame on you ! Will you 
leave the Holy City in the hands of the unbeliev- 
ers ? No ! One last charge, and Jerusalem, the 
city of our Lord, is in our power ! " Then turning 
and brandishing his sword, " God wills it ! " he 
cried, and rushed against the enemy. " God wills 
it!" cried Guy, and leaping up, he gripped his 
sword and started in pursuit. After them came 
the mighty Christian host with new vigor and re- 
newed strength. 

Godfrey was one of the first over the wall, and 
Guy was close upon him. Then another rushed 
over, and then another, and more and more. Look 
to yourselves, brave Saracens, or you have lost the 



112 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

day ! Ah ! they could not withstand that onset. 
Some fled, some stood for a moment, only to be cut 
down by their pursuers. The wretched creatures, 
huddled together in the midst of the city, were 
like lambs given up to the slaughter. Guy did 
not like such work; he desisted. 

So at last the battle was won. Godfrey of 
Bouillon stood leaning on his sword with his chief 
men about him, taking counsel for what should 
happen next. 

" It has been a hard-fought battle," said old Ray- 
mond of Toulouse. " That was no easy victory." 

" No," said Godfrey ; " and had it not been for 
yonder young man," pointing to Guy, who stood 
near, " and a handful of others like him, we should 
not be here now. What say you, Des Fontaines ; is 
it not true?" 

" It was not I, or the like of me, that decided 
the battle," said Guy, gravely. " It was the will 
of God." 

And all the Crusaders standing about, young and 
old, bowed their heads, and said, " Amen 1 " 



Second Sunday in September. 

" There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." 

[ NEVER saw such a change, Mother, in any- 

-*• body in my life as there is in Harry Weston 
since we have been gone. If it was n't for his black 
hair and eyes, I don't believe I should ever know 
him. Even his face is changed; and if he ever 
had dimples before, I'm sure I don't know where 
he kept them. I never saw any. There he is 
now, standing outside the gate. See him laughing ! 
Would n't you call him handsome ? " 

Mrs. Ames looked up from her work at a tall, 
good-looking young fellow, who was playing ball 
with a little waif who was so much smaller than 
the other boys that nobody cared very much 
whether he had a good time or not. 

"He is a handsome boy," said Mrs. Ames. 
" Did n't he use to be not only plain but rather 
disagreeable too ? It seems to me he was quarrel- 
some at school, was n't he ? " 

" Well, no ; he was n't quarrelsome, exactly. He 
was sort of ' snubby.' Nobody liked him. He had 
his lessons well enough, and I don't suppose he ever 
disobeyed any of the rules. He was a sort of model 

8 



114 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

boy in that way, but it never seemed as if the 
teachers liked him any better than the boys did. 
He was honest, and told the truth ; but he got no 
end of boys into trouble when he needn't. But 
Julian Hosmer says that now there is n't such a 
popular boy in school as he is." 

" Did you ask Julian how it came about ? " in- 
quired Mrs. Ames, a good deal interested. 

" Yes, I did. I did n't want to say anything hate- 
ful, you know. I just said, 'Was Harry Weston 
always as popular as he is now ? ' You know Ju- 
lian came to school just after I went away. He 
just shouted. 

" ' Well, I should laugh,' said he. ' Popular ! You 
just bet your hat he wasn't. He has been pop- 
ular only a few months. Some of us are dreadful 
afraid 't will wear off.' 

" ' Is that so ? ' said I. 'How did it happen ? ' 

" ' I 'm sure I don't know,' said he. ' Ask his 
mother. Maybe she knows. They say mothers 
always know everything.' 

" So that 's all I know about it." 

" Ah, well ! " said Mrs. Ames, " find out his secret 
and profit by it, if you can. Such a change is, in- 
deed, remarkable." 

Harry and Walter became firm friends. " David 
and Jonathan," Mrs. Ames used laughingly to say as 
she saw them, arm in arm, sauntering by the house. 
The boys who were big enough to read Plutarch, 



THERE IS A FRIEND CLOSER THAN A BROTHER. 115 

called them " Damon and Pythias ; " and many were 
the sly allusions to the intimacy which had sprung 
up between them. 

One day, when they were out in the woods nut- 
ting, Harry suddenly disappeared. In a few min- 
utes he came rushing back breathless, and explained, 
half-apologetically, that there was an old woman 
who lived over there all by herself, and whenever 
he came that way he usually got her a pail of water 
from the spring. 

Walter looked at him as if but half comprehend- 
ing; then in a moment of astonishment he ex- 
claimed, " Harry, I say, would you mind telling me 
how you happen to always think of helping every- 
body ? I would just as lief help if I could think of 
it ; but I never do. How do you manage it ? " 

Harry whistled, picked up a chestnut-burr, and 
opening it threw the nut at a gray squirrel, that, 
tamer than the others, had sat watching the boys 
make way with his rightful harvest. He jumped, 
ran away a little, back, away, and finally, gaining 
courage, grabbed the nut, and stowing it away safely 
in his cheek, ran off to his nest. 

" There 't is again ! " said Waiter. " I saw that 
squirrel just as quick as you did, but I never 
thought of throwing him a nut. I believe you 'd 
tame him. Let's have the secret. Out with it!" 

" I don't know," said Harry, slowly, " as there is any 
secret. I used to be sort of blind to what was going 



116 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

on about me. Now I see better, though I don't see 
very well, even now. There 's lots more fun to me, 
and it seems as if there 's a lot more to other people. 
Two years ago, just after you went to Europe, I 
went over to the Springs to spend a part of my 
vacation. We had a jolly party, — mother, Tom 
Briggs and his sister Annie, and I. We found some 
other pleasant people there, too. Well, down at 
the other end of the hall was an old parrot. He 
could say all sorts of things in that gruff voice of 
his, but there was one thing he always said to 
strangers. He would cock his head on one side 
and look so awfully knowing, and then say, 
' There — there — there 's a friend.' You could n't 
coax him to say a bit more of it. As I afterward 
found out, the family had at one time a new motto 
hung up on the wall. It was one of those card- 
board things, all scrolls and nourishes, and when 
once you could make it out, it said, 'There is a 
friend that sticketh closer than a brother.' But 
nobody ever could make it out all at once ; and 
when the boarders saw it, they always stumbled 
through it in just that way ; and so Poll picked 
it up, but he would n't say any more. He kept say- 
ing it till I just got sick and tired of hearing it ; and 
when I felt real lazy, that thing would run in my 
head, and I would just say over and over, ' There — 
there — there 's a friend,' and then rhymes seemed 
to come to it, and finally it fitted itself into an old 



THERE IS A FRIEND CLOSER THAN A BROTHER. 117 

jingling tune, and I would find it running in my 
head until I was just mad. 

" There was a little girl at the house that every- 
body made a good deal of. She was a pretty little 
thing, and one day she was playing near me when 
the bird called out to some new people, ' There — 
there — there 's a friend.' She asked me what he 
meant. I tried to explain, but did n't get on very 
well ; and then I remembered something Miss 
Mason told us at Sunday-school about love and 
friendship, and that if you really and truly loved 
other people, and wanted to help them, as Christ 
did, you would be the closest and best sort of a 
friend. I forgot some of it, and 't was rather a 
lame thing. You see, it sort of went in one ear 
and out the other when Miss Mason was telling it, 
and I don't know as I should ever have thought of 
it again if it had n't been for Eose. She went on 
playing, and I tried to think of the rest, when 
suddenly. I heard a scream. Little Eose had tum- 
bled into the brook, and right where it was widest 
and deepest. I jumped and ran, and so did two 
or three other fellows ; but I got there first, and 
jumped in and got her. Between us all she was 
saved, pretty well scared, but not hurt. The first 
thing she said was, ' You were my friend, were n't 
you ? Did you love me ? ' 

" I went to my room and got on some dry 
clothes, and so did Eose ; and in an hour we were 



118 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

out on the piazza again. But she would n't let me 
alone. She kept saying, ' I 'm your friend, 'cause 
I love you.' She seemed to be on the watch to 
do things for me ' 'cause I love you,' till — I tell 
you true — it got to be 'most as bad as the 
parrot." 

" What did you stand it for ; why did n't you 
clear out ? " asked Walter, picking up some moss 
and making a pretty mat of it, with a pattern in 
red berries. 

" Oh, I could n't help it. She was such a bright 
little thing, everybody liked her. After a while I 
began to take her about with me to the woods ; 
and one day I fixed her such a nice swing, and 
while I was doing it, it came into my head that I 
was doing it because I loved Eose and was her 
friend. You see, before I had thought only of her 
loving me. It was because I liked her that it was 
fun to do things for her ; and then I wondered if 
the rule would go backward, and if I did things I 
should learn to love people and become their friend. 
That's all. I don't suppose I've made it very 
plain, but that 's the way it came about." 

" And so you went on trying the experiment, did 
you ? " said Walter, carelessly. " Is that the whole 
story ? " 

" It is, and it is n't. What did you want to 
know for, any way ? " queried Harry, rather rest- 
lessly, with an odd look on his face. " Say, are 



THERE IS A FRIEND CLOSER THAN A BROTHER. 119 

you in earnest, or are you just pumping a boy to 
find out what you can ? " 

" No, I 'm not pumping you ; I'm in real ear- 
nest," answered Walter, quickly, and with a little 
embarrassment. " But," added he, " never mind, if 
you don't like to tell. Let 's see who '11 climb 
those trees highest ! " and with a bound he ran for 
the tree. 

" Hold on, Walter ! Wait a second ; we '11 climb 
the trees afterwards. I don't like to be laughed at 
by the fellows, but I don't mind telling the whole 
story when anybody really wants to know." 

" Well, then, I really want to know. Don't you 
remember that funny old teacher we had when 
Mr. Grant was sick, — how she would say to the 
next boy when one had recited well, ' Now, you go 
and do likewise ' ? " 

" I '11 bet I do ! " rejoined Harry, laughing; "and 
was n't she mad when we failed to ' do likewise ' ? " 

" Now, I want to ' do likewise,' " Walter went 
on ; "for it seems to me you have the best of it." 

" I don't mind saying, then, that we had that same 
text for a Sunday-school lesson one day. It was 
such a simple thing when the teacher (you know 
we have a man now) said that the spirit of love 
was that friend, and we could all be friends of the 
dearest sort if we only had real love one for another. 
You see, it was first Miss Mason's idea, and what 
I had found out for myself, — that 's all." 



120 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" And that 's enough ; I guess I can try it, any- 
way," returned Walter. 

The boys picked up their bags of nuts, whistled 
" Hail Columbia " in concert, and trudged along. 
People do not always talk most when they have 
been thinking deepest. But the spirit of love 
stayed with them, and closer, stronger than a 
brother, it helped them to see where they could 
lend a helping hand and word to bring in the 
kingdom of God. 



Third Sunday in September. 

" JBe not overcome of evil, but overcome evil 
with good." 

HOW often we hear a boy say, " When I 'm a 
man, I '11 " do so and so. " When I 'm a 
man, 1 11 invent a flying-machine." " When I 'm 
a man, I 'm going to Europe." " When I 'm a man, 
I '11 have five horses, and seven cows, and a hundred 
dogs." 

Now, it happened that one summer day Jack 
Eailton's thoughts seemed to be running in this 
channel. Jack was sitting, or rather lying, at the 
foot of a large oak tree which spread over a quiet 
mill-pond. He held a light fish-rod in his hand, 
but his thoughts seemed to be far away from his 
sport, and he talked away, half to himself and half 
to his little sister, who sat just behind him in the 
shade, watching him admiringly, and listening to 
his rather disjointed musing. 

" Well, when I 'm a man I shall do lots of things, 
Elsie. Of course I shall have a tremendous house, 
and everything like that. And then I '11 have a 
large farm all about it, something like papa's. 
There '11 be a gate-lodge, and a great long avenue, 



122 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

and oak-trees growing on the sides, — do you hear, 
Elsie ? " 

" Yes, Jack, yes ; won't it be fine ? " 

" And 1 11 have two barns, and a pony phaeton, 
and, — ■ look here, Elsie, I shall have my children 
go to boarding-school if they want to. Do you 
know, I think it 's really wrong in papa, when he 
knows how much I want to go to the academy, to 
keep me here driving cows and feeding horses and 
digging potatoes. Eeally, I think it 's too bad. 
And there 's Charlie Brown, he goes to school, and 
he — " But all further musing was interrupted by 
a vigorous bite which made Jack start up and watch 
his line more carefully. 

Strangely enough, that very evening Jack's 
father called him, and told him that he really 
thought he was old enough to go to school, and that 
he should go that very autumn if everything went 
well. And so it was settled that Jack was to go 
to the Andrews Military Academy. 

Jack Eailton was a very fine fellow. His hard 
work on the farm and his regular hours of country 
life had given him a strong constitution ; and besides 
this he had been blessed with a handsome face and 
a strong, well-knit figure. At school he always 
took the utmost interest in his work. The teacher, 
Mr. Hardy, was fortunately one of those men who 
seem to have almost a magnetic way of interest- 
ing scholars in their studies. Jack was especially 



OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD. 123 

happy in reading history, and many were the 
pleasant walks that he had with Mr. Hardy, when 
they talked over what they had lately been reading, 
and when they compared past times with the more 
absorbing topics of the present day. 

But we must not imagine that because Jack 
liked school he was, of course, a " goody-goody," or 
as we might say, a " milk-sop." ISTo, far from it. 
There was no one at school who could throw Jack 
at wrestling, and at base-ball or foot-ball he had few 
equals in the village. For two years he had been 
captain of the little school nine, and many were 
the victories that he had scored against the boys of 
the district schools of the neighborhood. In fact, 
as I have tried to show, Jack was really just about 
what a real boy ought to be ; and so when it be- 
came generally known that he was to go off to 
the Academy, there was a general feeling of regret, 
not only at his home, but throughout the entire 
village. . 

Andrews Academy was in a little town on the 
west side of the Hudson Eiver, and it would have 
been hard to find a more beautiful spot. Scarcely 
more than a quarter of a mile from the school doors 
lay the river, in summer dotted with sails and busy 
with traffic, and in winter alive with skaters and 
ice-boats. And just beyond were the majestic Pali- 
sades, rising like a green wall as if to protect the 
river below, while on either side of the school, along 



124 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

the river banks, stretched magnificent estates covered 
with thick woodland and rich meadows. 

It was late in September when Jack got out at 
the little station, and saw for the first time the 
place that was to be his home for several years. 
He had waited but a few moments, watching the 
train start off, when up rattled the school barge, 
and he and his traps were whirled away to the 
academy. 

The term had begun several weeks before, and so 
Jack, being a very late arrival, had no sympathizing 
companions as he got out at the school door, feeling 
a little out of place, and somewhat frightened at his 
new surroundings. He was shown immediately to 
the head master's study, and afterwards to his own 
little room at the top of the building. The head 
master, Dr. Walker, had introduced him to several 
of the boys, and after he had unpacked his trunk 
and arranged his room a little, he set off with them 
to see the rest of the building and the school 
grounds. One of the boys, Will Smith, seemed es- 
pecially pleasant, and as they walked about, Jack 
soon forgot his strangeness and talked with him as 
if they were old friends. 

"Tell us," said Jack, "why don't we see more 
fellows in the playground. Are n't you allowed to 
play in the afternoon ? " 

Will laughed, and replied, " Oh, yes, they are al- 
lowed to ; but the trouble is, there are very few who 



OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD. 125 

care to. Why, do you know, Eailton, we used to 
have a mighty good nine here, and several of the 
fellows played very good tennis ; but that 's all past 
now." 

" What 's the matter ? " asked Jack. 

" Well, the matter is that the school is getting 
sort of demoralized. Almost half the fellows this 
year are a pretty fast crowd, whose fathers sent 
them up from New York because they thought they 
had too many temptations there ; and so you can 
see that their being here hardly helps the tone of the 
school. Now,' those fellows feel rather above base- 
ball and athletics, and spend most of their time 
smoking and playing poker. I tell you it 's poker 
that 's killing everything here ; there 's a perfect 
craze about it. Every one plays, and what seems 
very strange, the teachers have n't found out about 
it yet. Then, too, the fellows talk in a very low 
way ; it 's always about this prize-fight or that 
theatre.- Oh, it 's too bad ! " 

" Do you ever play poker ? " asked Jack. 

"Oh, yes," admitted Will. "Yes, I do, because 
every one else does, and I don't want to seem a 
baby." 

All this came like a thunder-clap on poor Jack. 
He had been looking forward to a life of solid study 
and solid athletics, and he scarcely knew what to 
make of this state of affairs. That very evening 
several fellows invited him up to the room of one 



126 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

of them, and almost before he knew it, he had be- 
gun to play, feeling ashamed to refuse outright, as 
he did n't want to seem " goody-goody." 

Jack knew the rules, he had read them in his 
" Hoyle," and had even played once or twice with 
Elsie, using black beans for counters ; and so before 
long he had won quite a sum of money. At rather 
a late hour the party broke up, and Jack was much 
complimented on his skill as a beginner. Bather 
flushed, and terribly ashamed of himself, he made 
his way up to his room and went to bed, where he 
lay a long time, thinking over the events of the 
day. How different everything was from what he 
had looked forward to ; how wretched he felt ; and 
oh, how his mother would have felt to see him that 
evening ! And yet, the more Jack thought of it, 
the more perplexed he grew, and the less could he 
think what he should do. 

The next morning was spent in study and drill, 
and Jack, after a short examination, was put into 
one of the higher classes, with a number of the fel- 
lows with whom he had played the night before. 
Here he seemed to meet with immediate popular 
favor. Many were the approving nods made by 
fellows when looking at him, and often Jack could 
hear whispered remarks about himself, at which he 
could not help being pleased. In fact, before two 
weeks were over, he had become a decided acquisi- 
tion to the school, — so all the fellows thought, — 



OVEECOME EVIL WITH GOOD. 127 

not only on account of his tall figure and handsome 
face, but also by his frank and open manners, and 
a certain hearty way in which he always spoke. 

All this time Jack still played in the evening ; 
and in the afternoon, though it is true a few of the 
boys were out in the field playing ball, or off on a 
long tramp, he usually followed the majority, who 
would, as a rule, walk over to the town, and either 
play billiards or loaf about the hotels. 

But at the end of those two weeks Jack came to 
the conclusion that things had gone far enough. He, 
for one, would not touch a pack of cards again, nor 
would he waste any time in lounging about billiard- 
rooms. No, he had had too much of that ; and if 
possible he would try to persuade his school-fellows 
that they had also. But how could he bring this 
about ? There were about fifty boys in the school, 
a majority of whom Jack already knew, and with 
whom, as I have said, he had become a favorite. 
The novelty of his arrival had worn off, and he de- 
termined at least to state his opinion to all these 
fellows, and if possible put a stop to the gradual 
decline which the school seemed to be falling 
into. 

Accordingly, one Saturday afternoon, it became 
noised about that Jack Kailton had something which 
he wanted to say to the fellows, and that they were 
all to be at the old barn near the river that evening 
just before dinner. As it was a half-holiday, and 



128 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

the boys were free to do as they pleased, this was 
a very easy matter to bring about, and at a little 
after five almost the entire school had assembled 
in the old loft, waiting to hear what Jack had 
to say. Very few had any idea what it was 
to be about ; and when Jack climbed on an old 
corn-bin, where he could the better address his 
audience, he was greeted by a volley of inquiring 
remarks. 

" Well, Daniel Webster, what 's up now ? " called 
out one of the boys. " Going to say something ? " 
asked another. " Where 's your sermon ? " shouted 
a third ; and by the time Jack got to his feet, he felt 
rather muddled by this outburst. But as soon as 
he began to speak he regained his confidence, and 
felt entirely at ease. 

" Fellows," he began, " I 've only been here a short 
time, and perhaps you'll think its none of my 
business to speak in this way to you. But still I 
don't know as it will do any harm, so I think I '11 
go ahead. [Cries of " Go on ! " " Keep it up, 
Jack ! "] Fellows," continued Jack, " we 've got into 
the wrong channel here at school. We 've come 
here to push ourselves and one another uphill, and 
instead of that we 're running downhill ourselves 
and helping each other down. Boys, I for one have 
had enough of this poker business, and I for one 
have had enough of this loafing around the village. 
It may seem very fine, and what a man of the world 



OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD. 129 

should do ; but it certainly is not what a straight- 
forward American boy should do, and it is not what 
he 's sent here to do." 

Jack was here interrupted by cries of, " Put him 
out ! " " Kill him ! " " Dry up ! " followed by, « That 's 
good, Jack ; keep it up ! " " What will you do ? " 
In fact, perfect bedlam reigned for a time, and Jack 
was dragged down to the floor. But he was up 
again in a moment, and after quiet had been re- 
stored, he continued : " This may seem babyish and 
silly ; but, believe me, boys, it 's true, and I think 
it should stop right here. [Again shouts and cries.] 
And I 've found," continued Jack, " that a good 
way not to do a thing is to do something else in- 
stead ; so I propose that we drop billiards and 
poker for solid athletics. And what 's more, fel- 
lows, if you don't stop it yourselves, I intend to see 
that Dr. Walker stops it instead. Will those in 
favor of my view say Aye ? " 

At those last few words such a shouting was 
raised that an outsider would certainly have thought 
the boys were crazy. Some cried out, " No," some 
"Aye," some gave piercing cat-calls, and in the 
midst of all this tumult Jack was cast from his 
lofty eminence, and landed on his head, amid a 
cloud of hay, straw, arms, legs, laughter, and rage. 
It seemed as if a free fight were about to take 
place ; but just then the dinner-bell rang, and the 
boys had to hurry off to get ready. 

9 



130 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

All that evening and all the next day Jack's 
speech was the absorbing topic of conversation. 
The majority of the fellows were against Jack ; but 
the minority were extremely enthusiastic on his 
side, and argued and talked with their opponents, 
feeling that they most certainly had the right on 
their side. They had determined to get up a foot- 
ball team to play with the neighboring schools, and 
accordingly the next day Jack and about twenty 
others were out on the playground hard at work 
playing Eugby. Will Smith had been chosen 
captain, and as almost all the boys had played be- 
fore, they had a very good game ; and, as Will ob- 
served to Jack afterwards, there was " lots of good 
material, if we only had time to get it into shape 
before the championship games, which are to be 
played a little before Thanksgiving." 

Dr. Walker and the other masters took the 
greatest interest in the game ; and Mr. Oliver, who 
taught mathematics, even consented to play with 
the boys now and then. 

As this went on, the opposition grew gradually 
weaker. The larger fellows especially, after watch- 
ing the other boys at foot-ball, became almost eager 
to join in the game, and one by one began to go 
over to the other side. And when at last the 
eleven had been picked out, and the uniforms had 
arrived, and still more when the championship had 
been won, and Andrews Academy had triumphed 



OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD. 131 

over all the schools for twenty miles around, there 
was only one boy who was not wild about foot-ball. 
And he, poor fellow, was a humpback, who could n't 
have played if he had wanted to. 

And so everything became changed. With the 
hard training of the different elevens the boys 
found that they had to go to bed earlier, and so all 
their time after dinner was spent in study. Poker 
and billiards became a thing of the past ; and though 
that was only ten years ago, you can scarcely find a 
boy at the academy who knows what it is to play 
for money. 

As for Jack, he is still the straightforward, honest 
fellow he was at school; and a little scar on his 
forehead often reminds him of that clay in the old 
barn when he was thrown on to his head for his 
effort to "overcome evil with good." 



Fourth Sunday in September. 

" The face of the Lord is against them that do evil" 

AGNES COUSENS was a great favorite among 
the other girls. She knew how to entertain 
them ; she could plan a variety of games for them ; 
she was fond of ruling, and she liked to have her 
own way, but she made it very pleasant for the 
others to obey her. 

" I do not know why, — exactly," said Mrs. 
Marston, mother of one of the little girls who 
formed the set who admired Agnes Cousens, " I do 
not know why it is, but I cannot exactly trust 
Agnes Cousens. She certainly keeps the children 
out of mischief, and occupies them, and that is the 
main thing in the summer holidays. But there is 
something about her I cannot quite trust." 

This was said one day in the parlor of a large 
hotel in the White Mountains. It was late in the 
season, but a party of friends had lingered with their 
families in the comfortable house which was still 
pleasant in the sunny days of September. There 
were a few ladies sitting with their sewing in the 
parlor, and a little swarm of the children had just 
left them for their usual morning rambles. 



134 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" It is such a relief," said Mrs. Jones, another 
of the mothers, "to get the children off my hands 
for the whole morning, that I must say I begin 
to adore Agnes Cousens, as the children do. I 
never could have stayed away from home as long 
as I have, if I had been obliged to plan excur- 
sions and amusements for the children day aftei 
day." 

" It is such a comfort," said another of the 
mothers, " not to have to wonder whether they are 
tumbling down a ravine, or tearing their skirts to 
pieces in the blackberry bushes — " 

" That I expect," said Mrs. Jones, " and Molly's 
dresses are made blackberry-vine-proof ; but, as you 
say, I am relieved to know she is not likely to 
tumble off the top of Mt. Washington." 

" But the trouble is," said Mrs. Marston, who had 
first spoken, " I think Agnes is very ambitious to 
lead, and I think she has great control over the 
other girls; how are we sure that she uses this 
control in the best way ? " 

" The way I look at it," said Mrs. Jones, " is, 
that it is only for a little while ; the vacation, hap- 
pily, does not last forever. I was thankful that the 
boys' school began early in September, and Mr. 
Jones could go home with them and take care of 
them. But I sometimes think Molly gives me as 
much care as the boys, and I really hesitated at 
staying on alone with her. But she begged me so 



THE FACE OF THE LORD IS AGAINST EVIL. 135 

hard to stay longer, and all from her love and 
adoration of Agnes Cousens. She could not bear 
to be parted from her." 

" She seems very quiet and well behaved," said 
one of the mothers ; " I can't say I find anything to 
object to in her." 

" I do not like her taking off all the children in 
this way, without telling us where they are going," 
said Mrs. Marston ; " there is always a little air of 
mystery about her proceedings." 

" Of course they make a secret of their little 
amusements," said Mrs. Jones ; " but last week 
everything went off very well at the ' entertain- 
ment' they gave." 

"Miss Agnes Cousens had a very important 
part in it," said Mary Trask, Mrs. Marston's sister. 
" It was all very pretty, but she was very conspicu- 
ous in everything." 

" I do not mind her leading," said Mrs. Marston, 
" if she will only lead the right way, and I think it 
is absurd to keep up such secrecy about everything. 
Mabel and Matty have always been in the habit 
of talking over with me all their little doings, and 
I must say that I miss knowing what they are 
about. Matty began to tell me what they were 
busy with yesterday, and where they were going 
to-day; but she suddenly stopped off, and put 
her hand over her mouth, and said they must not 
tell." 



136 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

"I suppose it is some little surprise they are 
planning," said Mrs. Jones, "like their famous 
' entertainment.' " 

The mothers would have been surprised if they 
could have seen how their daughters were occupied. 

Mrs. Jones would have discovered Molly perched 
up on a high stone, with a trowel in her hand, 
almost covered with the cement she was trying to 
plaster over two rough stones in a hopeless attempt 
to make them stay together. One of the girls was 
in a tree hacking away at a branch in a very peril- 
ous position; another had a small hatchet in her 
hand, and was trying to prune off some twigs from 
one of the bushes. 

" I think, Molly, you may as well stop," said 
Agnes ; " you know I have given up making that 
stone wall any higher. It is too tiresome work; 
and now we have got the awning to put over 
the top of it all, I don't believe we shall 
need it!" 

The little party were all at work over the re- 
mains of an old house that had once been built in 
the woods, but which had long been deserted, and 
nothing was left of it but the stone foundation of 
the cellar, that had received the grand name of 
" the ruins " from the summer visitors in the neigh- 
borhood. " Castle Babcock," it was called by the 
children, from the name of the farmer who ventured 
long ago to put his house so far away. 



THE FACE OF THE LOPvD IS AGAINST EVIL. 137 

" Of course," said Mabel Marston, " we never 
could have finished this summer, or next summer 
either. We have had good fun trying to build up 
the walls, but I never believed we should camp out 
in Castle Babcock, and it seems to me perfectly 
wild to think of coming here to-night. I never 
supposed you were serious about it." 

" It is just the night for it," said Agnes, firmly. 
" The hot sun has been beating down into this open 
space all day; and I heard Mr. Crafts say to-day 
that the thermometer had been higher than any 
day in summer." 

"But you know our mothers would not let us 
1 camp out ' in the midst of the hottest summer 
days," persisted Mabel ; " and of course they would 
not let us come now." 

"They could not object," said Agnes, in a con- 
ciliatory tone, " if they knew all the arrangements 
we have made, and the rugs and the cloaks and the 
ulsters we are piling up under the awning. I 
am sure it will be warmer than in the room I am 
sleeping in, where the wind pelts in through the 
cracks of the windows, and almost blows me out 
of the bed." 

" It is so comfortable in here," said Matty, creep- 
ing up from under the awning. " Do try it, Mabel ; 
you never knew anything so cosey." 

" I never supposed you really meant to carry out 
the plan," continued Mabel, " and I don't like all 



138 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

this secrecy about things. I think it is a great deal 
nicer to tell our mothers and our older sisters what 
we are doing." 

" They don't object/' said Agnes ; " they are glad 
to be spared the trouble. They all admired the 
c entertainment' last week, and enjoyed it, for being 
a real surprise." 

" Still, I think the ' entertainment ' would have 
been nicer if we had consulted some of the older 
people. We should not have made that mistake of 
putting Queen Isabella and Mary Queen of Scots 
into the same picture." 

" And why not ? " asked Molly ; *' they were both 
of them queens." 

" Well, Queen Isabella was dead and buried long 
before Mary Queen of Scots appeared," said Mabel ; 
"and Aunt Mary laughed at us well for bringing 
them together." 

" What difference did it make in a picture ? " 
asked Molly. 

■"' Of course you can tell them all about to-night's 
plan, if you want to," said Agnes ; " but I think 
they will all be amused at our pluck in carrying it 
through by ourselves." 

"And just think how surprised they will be to 
get our note, inviting them to breakfast at Castle 
Babcock to-morrow." 

" To find us all frozen in the cellar when they 
travel up here," said Mabel. 



THE FACE OF THE LORD IS AGAINST EVIL. 139 

" It is not fair for you to object to the plan just 
as we are all ready for it," said Sophy ; " it is just 
as comfortable down in the cellar among all the 
shawls, as it is in our beds." 

"I have a pile more wraps in my room," said 
Agnes to Mabel, " that we can bring along with us. 
We will all go to bed early. Mrs. Jones says Molly 
may sleep with you and Matty, and the twins will 
come with me. That is all settled, because they all 
think we are going to get up early to come up here ; 
and it is only getting up the night before." 

" Bridget told me she should have a pie for us," 
said Sophy, one of the twins. 

" That is another thing I don't like," said Mabel, 
— " your telling Bridget and Aaron to say nothing 
about the plan. It is teaching them to deceive." 

" We had to tell Aaron," said Molly, " for he gave 
us the pail of mortar to plaster the walls with, and 
got us the awning. He thought it was all a very 
great joke." 

" So did I," said Mabel.; " and I did not suppose 
you really meant to come up here and spend the 
night without telling anybody." 

" Anybody may stay away that wants to," said 
Agnes ; " there 11 be more candy for those that are 
left, — only there is plenty of it ; and I shall bring 
away some oranges from the dinner-table." 

" It is time to go back to dinner now," said 
Mabel. " Of course I shall come with you if the rest 



140 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

come, to take care of the younger ones ; but I hope 
something will prevent you." 

" Wait till I have scraped the mortar from the 
front of my dress/' said Molly ; " it would go where 
there was not any apron." 

" I am sorry you are not more cordial, now," 
said Agnes to Mabel, as they went home ; " but 
I think you will feel differently when we set 
out in the moonlight, for it is going to be a 
beautiful night, and it will be all mysterious and 
delightful." 

This prophecy of Agnes was not fulfilled. 
While they were at dinner the wind changed, 
and brought a heavy bank of clouds, and before 
they had left the table the rain had begun to fall. 

" I do believe we are going to have the Equinoc- 
tial storm after all this fine weather," said Mrs. 
Jones, pulling her shawl about her. 

Agnes found Matty, and took her off directly to 
a favorite retreat they had in the barn, where they 
could not be found by the other girls. 

" Do let us keep out of the way," said Agnes to 
Matty, as they hid themselves in the hay under the 
roof of the barn ; " the girls will be bothering us 
all the afternoon with questions as to what we are 
going to do." 

" There 's nothing to do," Matty exclaimed ; " for 
hear the rain ; it is coming down in a regular pour 
now." 



THE FACE OF THE LORD IS AGAINST EVIL. 141 

They listened in silence for a while to the heavy 
rain as they heard it like a torrent just above them 
on the roof. 

" Do you believe," said Agnes at last, " that ' the 
face of the Lord is against them that do evil ' ? " 

" What do you mean ? " asked Matty, struck with 
something like an awe of the words. But she sat 
up in the hay to answer. 

" I have thought about it a good deal," she said. 
" I think it depends upon whether you do the evil on 
purpose. I will tell you about something that hap- 
pened to me. Once I was playing near my father, 
who was busy at his writing-table, and I climbed 
up on the table, and I knocked over his inkstand, 
and the ink went all over what he was writing. 
And he looked very sorry ; but then he looked up 
at me and was very kind when he saw how sorry I 
was too. And he said I ought to be more careful ; 
but he knew I was sorry, and he was just as good 
to me, and somehow I felt he was not 'against 
me,' though I had ' done evil.' " 

" But that was your father," said Agnes. 

" But then our Father, who is the Father of us 
all, my mother says," Matty went on, " would be 
just as kind to us if we did not mean evil. He 
sends the rain on the just and the unjust, and He 
makes the sun to shine alike on both. But I want 
to tell you something else ; that a little after this 
time I was telling you of, there came an older 



142 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

cousin to stay with us, Herbert Brown. He was a 
great tall fellow, and he used to plague and tease 
me a great deal ; and one day when I was in his 
room, because I was so provoked with him I upset 
a bottle of ink over his paper where he had been 
copying, just on purpose." 

Matty paused. 

" I know just how you felt," said Agnes. 

" But I got my punishment," Matty went on. 
" He spoke kindly to me, as papa did, and was sorry 
I was so careless ; but all the time he stayed with 
us he never asked me into his room again. Mabel 
used to go, and he would let her look at his beauti- 
ful books and pictures ; but he told me that he did 
not ask me because he was afraid I should not be 
careful. You see he did n't forget. And I suppose 
that is the way that God will not forget when we 
do evil, if we do it on purpose." 

" I suppose Mabel is feeling very happy about 
the rain," said Agnes. " I suppose she thinks it is 
our punishment ; and perhaps she is right." 

" You don't think we were going to do evil ? " 
asked Matty, starting up. 

" I am afraid that I ' knew ' I was doing evil," 
said Agnes. "I knew that none of the mothers 
would approve of the plan. I was sure your mother 
would not like it, but I believe that was one reason 
I wanted to do it, just as you felt about your cousin, 
I thought she did not like me — " 



THE FACE OF THE LORD IS AGAINST EVIL. 143 

" My mother ! " exclaimed Matty ; " you would 
not want to do anything to displease her ! " 

"I think she is the best of all the mothers," 
said Agnes ; " and I don't know why I should 
feel so. Perhaps I knew she would be right in 
blaming me ; and oh, Matty, if I had had such a 
mother to take care of me, I might have been 
different." 

Matty had moved herself a little way from her 
friend ; but now she came near her, and exclaimed, 
" Oh, Agnes, I know she loves you, just because 
you have no mother." 

" Suppose we go to her," said Agnes. " Let us 
tell her all. I will tell her that I have done it all, 
and that I believe I am being punished." 

" But ' the evil ' has not been done," said Matty, 
consolingly, standing ready to go. 

" Yes, it has," said Agnes ; "think of the heavy rain 
on all those wraps and shawls we have carried up. 
Everything will be ruined, — other people's things !" 

" Oh, I never thought of them ! " cried Matty. 
And we took Miss Pierce's satin sofa-pillow, with- 
out telling her of it. Oh, Agnes, we have been 
doing very evil; let us go and tell mamma." 

The two girls hastened back into the house, 
neither of them saying anything, except that as they 
reached the door Agnes stopped to say, — 

" Matty, you have taught me a lesson. If any- 
thing goes wrong with you, you go directly to tell 



144 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

your mother. Now, I have been in the way of 
hiding the evil I have done, even from myself. 
So now it is harder for me." 

"If you had rather, I will tell," said Matty; 
" only I want to hurry, on account of the pillows 
and things." 

" You teach me to be brave too," said Agnes, as 
they hurried into Mrs. Marston's room, where they 
happily found her alone. 

Agnes did, indeed, bravely and quickly tell the 
whole story, taking all the blame upon herself. 
Mrs. Marston was very much shocked, for it 
was all indeed much worse than she had feared. 
Agnes had been carrying through a plan of deceit 
that had been deeply laid. 

" And if it had not been for the rain," she could 
not help exclaiming, " you would have carried out 
this plan, exposing yourself and the other girls by 
taking them up into the woods a cold autumn 
'night. You never would have stayed, my poor 
children. I hardly think you would have had the 
strength or will ; even your courage, Agnes, would 
have failed to take you there by moonlight. But 
how could you teach them to deceive in this 
way ? " 

Her voice was tender and kind as she held Agnes 
in her arms. 

" Do you think, Mrs. Marston," said Agnes, " that 
the rain was sent as a punishment ? " 



THE FACE OF THE LOKD IS AGAINST EVIL. 145 

" Ah, my dear child," said Mrs. Marston, " the 
punishment would have come without the rain, even 
if you could have carried out your plan. It would 
have come in the cold and terror you would have 
felt yourself, in long sickness afterwards, perhaps, 
and in learning what you may yet learn, — the evil 
you have caused in teaching Aaron and Bridget to 
deceive Mr. Crafts." 

" But, Mamma," said Matty, pulling her mother 
by the sleeve, " there is Miss Pierce's sofa-pillow 
in the rain all the time, and we did not ask her 
for it." 

" You do not mean that you have left anything 
out in the rain ! " exclaimed Mrs. Marston, starting 
up. " Agnes, you shall go with me ; with thick 
boots and wraps we can venture in the rain, and 
Aaron and one of the men shall go with us to bring 
home everything. I fear, indeed, Agnes, the pun- 
ishment is not yet over." 

A heavy rain was falling, as Mrs. Marston and 
Agnes came back from Castle Babcock. It was 
already dark as they stumbled home, Agnes cling- 
ing, shivering, to Mrs. Marston. 

" I am glad you made me come in all the rain," 
she said ; " it will make me remember this day. I 
will try to think less of my own power ; I will try 
to see where the evil is." 

Mrs. Marston took Agnes to a warm fire in her 
room. 

10 



146 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

<f Do you think," said Agnes, " that all this will 
answer for a penance, — all the failure and the 
shame of it, and the girls seeing me come back with 
the dripping things ? " 

" The ' penance ' will not help you/' said Mrs. 
Marston, " unless it serves to make you never forget 
that you were wrong, so that you may not commit 
the evil again. But if the shame shall make you 
begin to do right, and to work for others instead of 
yourself, it will have been of real use." 

" I told Miss Pierce I would make her a new 
cover for her pillow," said Agnes, " and I hate to 
sew ; but I will do it. And I have some money 
saved up to buy a bracelet with ; but I will use it 
to buy the prettiest material for the pillow, and you 
shall tell me how to make it," she added humbly. 
" And perhaps she will like to have me fill it with 
some of the fir-leaves from Castle Babcock, if she 
does not hate the smell, as I am afraid I shall, 
unless I can have it remind me to be always afraid 
of doing evil." 

" The greatest help for this," said Mrs. Marston, 
" is to be always occupied in trying to do well." 



Fifth Sunday in September. 

Temperance Lesson. 

ONCE upon a time a colony landed upon a 
desert island. 

There were fifty people in the colony, but of these 
only ten were able-bodied men, and the rest women 
and children. They had spent all their substance 
on this venture, and had brought with them a store 
of food, axes to cut down the forests, and other 
tools for building houses, ploughs and shovels and 
hoes to till the soil, and seed to plant. They had 
also some oxen, bulls, and cows, sheep, and pigs ; 
not many, but sufficient, they hoped, for flocks and 
herds when they had increased. 

The desert island on which they had landed was 
covered with trees ; and when the ship had sailed 
away and they had gone over it, they found that 
there was no game in the forest, neither beast nor 
bird, and though the boys went fishing day after 
day, with all kinds of bait, they could never catch 
any fish. 

This disappointed the colonists greatly, for their 
store of food was only sufficient for one year ; and 
as they had landed in the summer, it would be a 



143 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

whole year before they could gather any crops ; and 
they dared not eat many of their beasts, for fear the 
rest might die and they be left without flocks and 
herds. 

Then they said to one another, " It is only by our 
own work that we can live and prosper ; " and they 
named the island " Per Se," to show that it was not 
what they brought with them, but what they did 
of themselves, that should make the colony. 

They pitched tents along the shore, and set to 
work cutting down trees to build houses against 
the winter, and to clear land to sow with grain and 
corn in the spring. 

There were plenty of trees to cut down, and the 
more they cut down the more room would there be 
for seed, so no one thought of sawing the logs into 

> O DO 

boards ; they cut them of suitable length, and built 
log cabins, and women and children filled the chinks 
with clay to keep out the cold of winter. 

Some of the children helped their mothers in this 
way ; but the largest boys went to the forest with 
their fathers, and when a tree was cut down they 
would lop off the smaller branches and saw them 
up into firewood. Others looked after the cattle, 
for there was no time to build fences. 

So they all worked week after week, rising early 
and coming home late, till before the snow fell they 
had ten log cabins built, — not large, but sufficient 
to keep them warm and dry ; and before Christmas 



TEMPERANCE LESSON. 149 

they had built a barn for all the cattle, the sheep, 
and the swine. 

But when the winter came they did not cease 
from cutting down trees, for the more they cleared 
of the forest the larger crop could they raise. So 
they toiled on week after week, rising early and 
coming home late, cutting down the trees, and haul- 
ing the logs with the oxen over the snow to the 
shore ; for they would not let the trees lie on ground 
that was good for grain, and they thought perhaps 
they could sell the lumber to some ship that might 
pass. 

Every week they examined their stock of food ; 
and though they were very careful, and stinted 
themselves where they could, yet the store grew 
less and less, and they knew that if their harvest 
failed they would be lost. 

When the spring came and the frost left the 
ground, they began with their oxen to pull the 
stumps of the trees out of the ground, and to 
plough between the stumps where there were too 
many to pull up. As soon as they had ploughed, 
they harrowed the ground, and sowed it with wheat 
and oats and Indian corn; and every man worked 
at the ploughing and at the sowing. 

Now, the land was of a good quality, so the 
crops grew fast and tall, and all the summer they 
worked in the fields, killing the weeds and keeping 
the ground in good condition. The harder they 



150 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

worked the hungrier they were and the more they 
ate, so that it seemed as if their store of food were 
really melting away. 

But at last, the day before a whole year had 
passed, the wheat in the field which they had first 
planted grew ripe, and they hurried and reaped some 
of it, and threshed it in the field. Then they ground 
it into flour, and killed an ox; and the next day, 
just one year after they had landed, they all rested 
from their work. They roasted the ox whole, and 
baked ten great loaves of bread. To make five of 
these loaves they took the last of the flour which 
they had brought with them, and to make the other 
five they took a part of the new flour they had just 
made. 

The next day they all set to work again reaping 
and threshing and storing away their grain; and 
when it was all done they found they had enough 
food to last them for three years. 

Then they said, " Now that we are sure of subsist- 
ence for three years, we must think of other things 
beside what we eat." 

So they decided that five men only should con- 
tinue to work as farmers and till the soil. Of the 
others, one was a carpenter, and he set to work to 
make better furniture for their cabins. Another 
was a shoemaker, and he set to work to make 
them new boots and shoes. Another was a black- 
smith, and he set to work to make them tools 



TEMPERANCE LESSON. 151 

and nails. Another was a weaver, and he set to 
work to make them cloth. The last was a good and 
learned man, and they said, " He shall teach our 
children on week-days, and all of us on Sundays." 

Then they apprenticed their sons and their daugh- 
ters, some to the farmers, some to the carpenter, 
some to the shoemaker, some to the blacksmith, 
some to the weaver, and some to the learned man. 

And the colony of Per Se grew and prospered. 

Some years after, another colony started from the 
same country. Like the first, it had fifty people, 
and of these, ten were able-bodied men. 

Now, the day before they started, one of the men 
sickened and died, and they were hurried and 
anxious to fill his place. Then there came to them 
a man named Easy, and proposed to go with them. 

They asked if he had any tools or supplies to add 
to the common stock ; and he said no, but that he 
had two hogsheads of good liquor which he would 
take with him. 

At this there rose a great controversy ; some were 
for taking him with them, and some against it. On 
this, the captain of the ship said that if they did 
not settle the question at once he would sail without 
any of them. 

Then two of the younger men said that Easy was 
a good fellow, and if he could not go they would 
not. 



152 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Now, these young men were strong, and good 
workers. Moreover, they had no children. And 
the rest counselled together, and said, " If we do not 
take them, there will be only seven of us to work, 
and over forty mouths to feed." So they decided 
that Easy should go. 

They took out of the ship the tools and stores of 
the man who had died, and a yoke of oxen which 
he owned, and left them on shore with his widow 
and orphans. And they took on board Easy and 
his wife and children. And this brought their 
number again to fifty, of which ten were able-bodied 
men. 

The first night of the voyage Easy asked all the 
men of the colony to his cabin. When they were all 
there he brought out a jug of liquor, and said they 
must celebrate their departure. So they talked, and 
sang, and drank. But presently they grew very 
nois}' and boisterous, and the captain came in and 
took away the liquor and locked it up for the rest 
of the voyage. 

At last, towards the end of summer, they were 
landed on a desert island, with all their goods and 
cattle, and the ship sailed away. And that night 
the men went away by themselves to a cliff over- 
hanging the sea, to celebrate their arrival. 

Now, no one had had any liquor on the voyage ; 
so Easy tapped his hogsheads, and they all drank 
deep ; and for the two young men who had taken 



TEMPERANCE LESSON. 153 

his part in the beginning he filled up more than for 
the rest, to show his gratitude. 

So these two young men first grew gay and joy- 
ous, and then fell to quarrelling. 

Now, the women were watching the men from a 
distance ; and when the wife of one of these saw 
them falling to blows and the rest laughing, she 
could no longer restrain herself, but ran up to part 
her husband from the other. Now the other one 
was blind with drink, and saw not what he did, and 
when she came near he struck out and hit the 
woman, and she fell on the ground. 

When her husband saw this, he grappled with 
the other man, and, as he was the better wrestler, 
he threw him over his head ; and he fell near the 
edge of the cliff, and rolled over the edge into the 
deep water, and was drowned. 

Then his wife ran up and called out for revenge 
upon the. murderer. And as they were all excited 
with drink, they took a rope and hanged him on a 
tree. 

The next morning they all had heavy heads, but 
two of the strongest rose and walked through the 
island ; and when they came back they said that 
it was all good land, but covered with trees, and 
they had seen neither bird nor beast. And the rest 
of the men had been fishing ; but they caught 
nothing, because the water was too deep for fish 
to live in. 



154 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Then there was a great mourning among them ; 
for when the widow had taken away her stores 
they had only eleven months' supply left. And 
they called the island "Fortuna," because they 
thought such luck would have come to no one 
but themselves. 

The next day they took their axes and started 
out to fell trees ; and when they called for Easy to 
go, he said, no ; that he had no tools, and if he had 
them, he would not know how to use them. Beside 
this, he dared not leave his liquor for fear some one 
might steal it. 

So the rest started off; but the thoughtful ones 
counted that there were but seven axes instead of 
ten, and remembered that there were forty-eight souls 
to house. But none the less they worked their best, 
and before the first snow fell, they had seven houses 
built, which covered them, though they were a 
little crowded ; and by Christmas they had almost 
finished a barn for their stock. 

Now, all this time they had been very careful 
that no one should drink too much ; and though the 
men had met every Saturday night, yet no one had 
gone too far. So when Christmas came they felt 
that they deserved some respite, and on Christmas 
eve they held a grand celebration. 

The house where they were drinking and shout- 
ing was next the barn, and the cattle were waked 
by the noise and frightened, and they broke their 



TEMPERANCE LESSON. 155 

halters and set to running round the barn. And 
finding a weak spot on the side which was not 
finished, they broke through and went out among 
the houses. 

As they walked through them they were attracted 
by the smell of the stores ; and finding the door of 
the storehouse ajar, they went in and ate and spoiled 
fully a month's supply of grain before the women 
who were in the house could call the men to drive 
them out. 

The next day they reckoned up the amount of 
food they still had, and found that with the greatest 
economy it would only last till within two months 
of harvest-time. But if they killed and ate the 
stock they had brought, they thought they could 
manage to hold out. So they began once every two 
weeks to kill a sheep or a pig, and tried to save 
their grain and flour. 

And the men, except Easy, continued to fell trees 
and haul them down to the shore. 

Then the women took counsel together, and said, 
"All of our misfortunes have come through Easy 
and his liquor." So they went by night and bored 
a hole in his hogsheads, and let the liquor run out 
on the ground. 

At first Easy and one or two of the men were 
very angry ; but seeing they could gain nothing by 
that, they secretly set up, in the corner of his 
house, a still which he had brought with him, and 



156 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

stole grain from the common store, and made liquor 
of it. This lasted for some time, till one night one 
of the men who was in the secret told his wife, and 
she told it to two of her friends, and the news 
spread until they all knew it. 

Then first they went to their store of food and 
found they had barely enough there to keep them 
till within three months of the harvest, and their 
cattle, though they killed them all, would not suffice 
for so long. 

So they said, " Nothing can save us now ; but we 
will destro}' the still." 

So they all went to Easy's house and broke down 
the door, and broke the still ; but as they broke it 
the distilled liquor caught fire, and they had to run 
for their lives, for the house was speedily all aflame. 
And though they drew water and worked their best, 
yet it spread from house to house till the whole 
town was destroyed, and of their food they saved 
only a small part. 

Now, as they were consulting as to what should 
be done, a ship came in sight, and the captain, out 
of pity for their state, took them aboard. And that 
was the end of the colony of Fortuna. 



First Sunday in October. 

"Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren 
to dwell together in unity." 

KING DAVID was returning home from one 
of his eastern campaigns. He passed west- 
ward over the rolling downs and through the noble 
oak forests of Bashan. At the end of a long day's 
ride he and the soldiers around him came in sight 
of the valley of the Jordan ; but it was still miles 
away. He drew his bridle with pleasure, and al- 
most without a word he and those about him 
watched the magnificence of the sunset. Far away 
the sun went down, tingeing Hermon on the right, 
and the lower hills on the left, with rosy light ; and 
the soldiers tried to make out if on one or another 
hillside, or in the purple lines which were all that 
they could see of valleys, were not some place 
which they had visited in the wanderings of earlier 
days. 

" You may pitch the tents here," said David to 
one of his servants. "And you may say to the 
others that we will spend all to-morrow here. I 
shall like to see some of my old friends who have 
their homes in these parts. Fine fellows! they 
live, like our great father Abraham, with their 



158 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

flocks and herds, — camels, sheep, and oxen." And 
he began telling with the others old camp stories of 
younger days, of the feats of Ezer, and Attai, and 
John, and Mishmannah, and other captains from 
the tribe of Gad, who had their ranches hereabouts. 
One was a great swimmer, and of one there was a 
ballad which described him with a face like a lion ; 
all of them could handle spear and shield, and they 
could run, as David could run in his youth, so that 
they could overtake the roes upon the mountains. 
One of the old company was on the staff of David 
now, and joined in the talk ; his name was Eliel. 
And with these old stories of their younger days, 
they sat around the fire till long after the stars were 
bright in the sky. 

The next morning the royal banner flew gayly 
over the tent. But there was nothing else of the 
pomp which the courtiers would have been glad to 
display ; for King David was every inch a soldier, 
even in his older years, and he would permit no 
gewgaws or nonsense to be seen around his head- 
quarters. But the banner itself was enough to ex- 
cite the enthusiasm of the neighboring shepherds 
and ranchmen, and the king's frugal breakfast was 
hardly finished before one and another of the Gil- 
eadites, whom he kept with a firm hand in their 
wanderings, came up to pay his simple shepherd 
homage. Sometimes it was with a bowl of honey ; 
sometimes it was with an elegant bear-skin ; some- 



DWELLING TOGETHER IN UNITY. 159 

times it was a beautiful lamb which was brought as 
a present to the great king who had honored them 
with his presence for a day as he passed through 
their country. David understood these people 
through and through ; he had been a shepherd him- 
self in his wandering, and he had met with all sorts 
and conditions of men. He did not overawe them 
by any dainty airs ; he talked with them face to 
face and man with man, in a way with which these 
simple people — of Arab blood and manners almost 
all of them — were well pleased. So was it that to 
one of them, older than the rest, and to whom 
David spoke with such respect as even a great 
sovereign should show to an aged man, after the 
interview had well gone on, after each had shared 
the other's food, and each had asked blessings upon 
the other household, he said : — 

" My father, as I passed the village in the valley 
below, I thought I heard shouts of anger yesterday. 
Am I not right when I say that one of the young 
men brandished a club, and that the other defied 
him to conflict ? Is this the way in which shepherds 
live with each other ? Why is it that people who 
are under the sky of God should be quarrelling, man 
with man ? " 

The old sheik sat silent for a little, and then 
replied : — 

"My father, you are right. I wish it were not 
so ; bat you are right, my father. The great king 



160 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

sees everything with his eyes ; the great king knows 
what is right and he knows what is wrong. You are 
right, my father; the young men were quarrelling 
with each other. I bade them go back, each to his 
own tent ; but they did not make peace, and they 
have not made peace now." 

Then King David bade the old sheik send back to 
the valley and the tents, and bid the young men come 
before him. And after much sending of messages, 
and whispering half aloud, and apologies for delay, 
as the afternoon turned, the two parties — for two 
parties there were — arrived. If King David thought 
he was only to receive two young men in his tent, 
and give them some fatherly advice, he was quite 
mistaken. First of all, on the track which the king 
himself had ridden upon, there came, on an elegant 
Arab horse, the young Fareh. He was dressed very 
much as a Bedouin would be dressed now, but his 
horse was perfectly groomed, the trappings of saddle 
and bridle were gold, and the long robe which he 
wore, and of which one part was thrown over his 
head, was finely woven of wool and elegantly em- 
broidered. He was the only horseman in the 
company ; but a band of twenty fine-looking young 
men, each with a long lance, followed on foot, and 
each of them had, as if by accident, some little token 
with him which should intimate that there was a 
horse not far away if a horse was needed. Fareh 
came silently up. His face was stern, and he made 



DWELLING TOGETHER IN UNITY. 161 

but few words as he dismounted, saluted David with 
a respectful salaam, gave his horse to a boy to hold 
not far away, as if he expected to retire soon, and 
then stood silent with his train, to wait till he 
should be called for. 

Soon after, from another direction, where a little 
brook found its way to the river, there came in a 
party, larger, and with a certain look of gayety 
which had not belonged to the first. This was the 
party of Fedhan ; they were all on foot, and they 
looked as if they had come to a dance, while the 
others looked as if they had come to a fight. They 
had not with them a riding-whip nor a lance ; their 
robes were of their best, but they were dresses of 
festivity, and not dresses of travel or of fight. 
Fedhan made his salaam as courteously as the other, 
but with a smiling face, asked one of the officers 
whether any place had been designated for them, 
and at a signal he and the rest flung themselves 
easily upon the ground. Then the great king spoke 
to both of them. 

" Fareh," he said, " and Fedhan, am I right in 
thinking that you are brothers ? " 

Fareh bowed gravely, and Fedhan said, " We are 
brothers, my lord." 

And David said, " Did not one father teach you 
to ride, and to throw the lance ? " 

And again Fareh bowed, and again Fedhan said, 
in his engaging way, " It is as my lord says." 

11 



162 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

And King David said, " And did not one mother 
carry you in her arms, and give you food from her 
breast, and teach you to pray to the God of heaven ? 
Did she not sing to you when you slept, and did 
she not bathe you when you waked ? " 

And this time Fareh said, " It is so ; " and the 
other said, still with the same smile, but with a 
good deal of tenderness at the same time, " My lord 
says as it is, and our mother still lives ; she is well 
and beautiful, and may the good God grant her a 
thousand years." 

And King David said, " And how is it that two 
sons of the same mother, two chiefs whom the same 
father has taught, shall now be quarrelling and 
fighting as I pass by, as if two curs from different 
tribes were quarrelling over the same bone ? " 

Over the face of Fareh there passed a flash of 
black anger, and Fedhan did not let his face be seen. 
He dropped his head and looked upon the ground, 
and no one could see whether he frowned or bit his 
lip or smiled. 

Then the king said that they were to tell their 
stories ; and Fareh began with a long tale of his 
father's death ; and he told how his father called 
him to his bedside when he died, and told him how 
the flocks were to be divided, which mares and 
which horses were to be given to each child, how 
their mother was to live, and which tents were to 
be hers, and made the whole division of the prop- 



DWELLING TOGETHEK IN UNITY. 163 

erty of the family. And he told in many words, 
which need not here be repeated, how he had sent 
north and south and east and west, to the different 
ranches, to the different herdsmen, and to the wan- 
dering flocks, to give them tidings of what his 
father wished, and how the herds and flocks were to 
be divided. And the division had been made, it 
seemed ; but in the division there had been a mis- 
take, which he had tried to correct afterwards, and 
had tried in vain. There was a certain white camel, 
famous in all the tribes ; and when the different 
herds and flocks had been driven in for the division, 
this white camel, by some strange oversight, had 
been neglected. Her foot was sore, or for some 
reason she had been left, and he had not himself 
known, not for many months, that the camel was 
not among his camels. It had only been at the 
time of the rising of the floods of Jordan, that one 
day, when he was on a friendly visit to his brother, 
he had seen, to his surprise, his white camel in his 
brother's herds. 

And now, for the first time, Fareh broke the 
bonds of the severe self-discipline which he had 
shown before. Now he broke out in a wild passion 
of eloquence, as he denounced the brother who re- 
fused to give up to him his own ; and if David had 
not checked him he would even have called down 
the curses of Heaven upon this ungrateful brother's 
head. But David did check him, sent him back to 



164 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

his own place, and there he stood again, as moody 
as before. 

Then David called upon the brother. Fedhan's 
story was much shorter, but it was not very hard to 
make it fit in with the story of Fareh. What is 
interesting to us is, that Fedhan also had not known 
that the white camel was in his flocks till the even- 
ing before Fareh had come to him. He had been 
journeying hither, he had been journeying thither, 
he had been in different valleys and different pas- 
ture-lands, which at length he named to the king. 
And then he told the story of his rights to the camel ; 
how they had arisen, what was her genealogy, what 
his father had promised at such and such a time, 
and what were his mother's views. He had no curses 
in words for any one ; but he also was wrought to 
the display of bitter anger, and the gentleness and 
affability of his first bearing died wholly away, as 
he even shook his fist in turning toward his brother's 
party, and would have been willing to challenge 
them to the conflict. 

And David said, "Fareh and Fedhan, if I understand 
you, you do not meet each other often. You met at 
your father's bedside when he died ? " The young men 
said they did. " And you had not met again till now, 
when Fareh went to visit Fedhan in his camp ? " 

And they said it was so. 

" Your homes are apart ? " said David. And they 
said, " Yes." 



DWELLING TOGETHER IN UNITY. 165 

And David said, " Will you come, Fareh, at my 
right side, and Fedhan at my left side ? " And the 
young men stood there. And David, with the rod 
he held in his hand, pointed at his right to the 
white cliffs of Hermon, and asked them the name 
of the mountain. 

They knew that he knew it, but each of them said, 
" My lord knows well that it is Mount Hermon." 

" And can you see," said David, " how the clouds 
form upon Mount Hermon ? " 

And Fareh said, " My lord knows that the rains 
fall upon Hermon and the dews distil there, and as 
the sun rises every day this white cloud is formed 
above Hermon. It is formed from the dews of God 
and from the rains of God." 

And King David said, " It is even so. Will you 
sit with me?" And they sat upon the ground, and 
the king sat upon the ground. 

And the king turned to Fedhan, and he said, 
" Look on the left, my brother. What is the dry 
land rising high in the south ? " 

And Fedhan said, " My lord knows well yonder 
are hills of Zion, where my lord is glad to dwell." 

The king said, " It is even so. I see no cloud 
rising upon Zion." 

Fedhan said, " My lord knows well the lands of 
Zion are dry ; there are no cedars there, no fir-trees 
there. The wadies are drained in the early spring, 
and the dews of God and the rains of God sink into 



166 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

the land. No cloud is formed by the sun above 
Zion." 

And the king said, " It is even so ; let us wait, 
my brother." 

And as they waited, over the western heavens 
they could see the white cloud of Hermon rising 
and taking form. They could see it gradually drift 
toward the south. Farther and farther it rolled 
away, changing its outline as half an hour went by, 
and even an hour. The king talked of other things. 
He bade Fareh tell him of a distant raid he had 
made, far away, under the orders and with the lead 
of one of his own captains, Jeremiah. He made 
Fedhan tell him the story of how he had gone far 
down into Arabia to purchase camels. Each of the 
young men listened to the other with pleasure and 
with a certain pride. And at one moment, as Fed- 
han told some experience of his with a wild Bedouin 
sheik, Fareh nodded his approval, and said, in a half 
undertone, " We learned that of old Ebnsaka," and 
Fedhan nodded with a smile. The king had the wit 
and grace thus to make the young men forget for a 
moment to what accident it was due that they were 
being praised by a great sovereign, and were listened 
to with courtesy by the great officers around him. 
And so this talk lasted, and refreshments were 
brought, and before they had known it, they had 
eaten each other's bread, and had shared each other's 
salt. All the officers were easily lounging upon the 



DWELLING TOGETHER IN UNITY. 167 

ground ; every one, perhaps, but David, had forgot- 
ten why they came there together, when the king 
started up. At once they all started up, and the 
king's sceptre pointed where the dry yellow crest of 
Zion could no longer be seen. The white cloud of 
Herinon had stolen south, and Zion was all envel- 
oped with the refreshing shower from the northern 
hills. And then for the first time King David 
sang : — 

" Behold, how good and how pleasant it is 
For brethren to dwell together in unity ! . . . 
Like the dew of Hermon 

That cometh down upon the mountains of Zion ; 
For there the Lord commanded the blessing, 
Even life for evermore." • 

And he took Fareh's right hand and Fedhan's 
right hand, and placed them each in the other's. 
And Fareh bent over and kissed Fedhan, and Fed- 
han kissed Fareh, and between their households 
there has been peace to this day. 



Second Sunday in October. 

" The Lord loveth the gates of Zion more than all the 
dwellings of Jacob ." 

I. 

THE next day after, or the next day but one, 
the king's little camp was broken up, and 
he and his company proceeded slowly on their way 
to his new capital at Jerusalem. Many a story 
did he tell his old companions in arms as they 
rode. This brook or that had its own memory of 
adventure of old days, running back almost as far 
as boyhood, when on one or another expedition 
there had been occasion to cross the Jordan. 

It was not possible to proceed rapidly, for it was 
now well known that the great king was passing 
through the country, and everybody wanted at least 
to see him. Some poor old woman, who had known 
his mother, or thought she had, would come out 
with a barley cake and some honey for her homage ; 
or it would be some Bedouin chief, like those which 
had been at the encampment, who brought out his ' 
whole train to show his strength, but to assure 
King David at the same time that there was now 
to be eternal peace between them. The good king 
would not suffer any one to be repulsed. Yet he 



170 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

was anxious to arrive, if lie could, at Succoth, that 
he might accept the proffered hospitalities of his 
old friend Esli, who had established himself there 
at the head of what we should call a great cattle- 
ranch. He was well pleased, therefore, when an 
hour before sunset they met a gay troop of horse- 
men led by Esli's brother and two of his sons, who 
came to say that their father's house was close at 
hand, and that they were come to do him honor. 
So there the king spent the night. But Asaph 
and Joab and the other officers of his train knew 
that he was dissatisfied. For from the beginning 
to the end all was state and form even in the 
midst of festivity. There was not what the king 
wanted, and what Asaph knew he wanted. For 
even in the midst of a campaign, when the sun 
had gone down, and the king had emptied the cup 
of milk and eaten the barley bread which made the 
supper he loved, he would call three or four of them 
together, and they would sing three or four psalms, 
perhaps the king's own, perhaps Asaph's, perhaps 
one of the old ones which they had learned when 
they were children. And then they would kiss 
each other and would go to bed. For the king- 
hated great festivities, and if he had his own way, 
was in bed on a summer night before the last purple 
of the sunset had faded from the sky. 

And the next day and the next night went in 
much the same fashion. They spent the night at 



THE LORD LOVETH THE GATES OF ZION. 171 

the City of Palms, — Jericho. They had crossed the 
Jordan, and were in the king's own domain. And 
now the enthusiasm was more noisy than ever, and 
the expression of it was more decorous and grand. 
At Jericho they arrived quite early in the after- 
noon. And here it proved there was to be a great 
military pageant ; no less a chief than Joab had 
brought together from all the country round, com- 
pany upon company of David's own tribesmen who 
were proud to show themselves in doing him honor. 
The ceremonies were not, of course, those of a dress 
parade of a Western army of to-day ; but the same 
spirit which works out that marvel was in the 
young soldiers who wanted to show their king what 
was their discipline and mettle. And the king, on 
his part, remembered too well what he was when 
young, and was, indeed, too grateful to them for 
their loyalty and service, to think of saying that 
fifty years of life had cured him of much fondness 
for such shows. Troop after troop of horsemen 
passed him in review, band after band of spearmen, 
and who shall say how many companies of archers 
in the lighter order of skirmishers ? And as each 
battalion came and went, the kind old king sent for 
the commander and for his second in command, 
and had a kind word for each. He remembered 
the father of one or the home of another ; for he 
would not permit himself to be outdone in courtesy 
by his young men. 



172 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Joab had not forgotten that kings would be 
hungry, after a day of travel and of ceremony, like 
other men ; and he had arranged a collation, which 
should be elegant enough for the young men of the 
court, and at the same time should meet the king's 
simpler tastes. This was all prepared in an elegant 
pavilion behind the stand which the king had taken 
on a little mound, not far from the northern gate of 
Jericho. But the king would not leave the cere- 
mony of the march-past to go in. He sat in his 
saddle through the whole, drinking a cup of milk 
which one of the lads brought him, and afterwards 
eating some dates which Joab himself insisted on 
holding for him, on a silver dish. The sun had 
set before the pageant was over. Then the king dis- 
mounted, and with the old officers of his own suite, 
and the large and elegant company of Joab's staff 
and of the headquarters of the army, he went to the 
elegant tent of Joab himself. Here some Egyptian 
envoys were presented to him, who had come up 
with messages from the pharaoh of the day, and 
here, on a visit at his court, were some young 
princes from Tyre. So there was more ceremony 
and more courtesy, and stately talk, half diplomatic, 
and all dignified. It was almost midnight before 
the resolute king left the throng. He beckoned 
Abiel and Othniel, and they went with him to his 
own pavilion. As they took from him one and 
another article of the dress of ceremony he had been 



THE LOKD LOVETH THE GATES OF ZION. 173 

wearing, their old chief said to them : " It is all very 
fine, and what must be must be ; but you and I 
would have enjoyed such an evening as we have 
spent before now in the desert, when I sang and 
you whistled an accompaniment, my good Othniel." 
And then he paused : " Othniel, the Lord sees as 
man does not see. He knows that in all this bow- 
ing and parading I was wishing we were praising 
Him. . . . Good-night, men." And so they left him 
to his sleep. 

II. 

The king called his attendants early the next day, 
and seemed to be in as good spirits as ever. 

" No," he said, " no armor, and no show of armor. 
It is peace now, and this is home. I am the old 
shepherd, who has been across the river to look after 
some stray rams." And he laughed at his little joke, 
as the young men brought him one and another 
coat, and as he insisted on the most modest in color 
of them all. 

" And to-day, gentlemen, no processions, and no 
homage, and no reviews. When we come in sight 
of our dear old Mount of the Jebusites we shall 
know that we are at home, and nobody need disturb 
himself to tell us so." 

And so they rode cheerfully on. Once and again 
one of the larger farmers would be in waiting with 
a welcome. But it was easy for the young men to 



174 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

intimate that the king was tired of ceremony, and 
then, whoever it was, would join the little cavalcade, 
and always after a few minutes he would be sum- 
moned to David's side, would be honored with a 
few cheerful words of talk as they rode together, 
and would leave more delighted than he could 
have been by any reception more formal. So no 
time was lost. The noonday encampment was long 
enough, and not too long, and the sun was still an 
hour high when the party came out upon the north- 
ern slope and looked on the range of the southern 
hills, in which the bold walls of Jerusalem stood 
forth so prominently. The picture is now familiar 
to the world, from a thousand drawings. But then, 
the newly built walls, which had taken the place 
of the old work of the Jebusites, were all which, 
at a distance, marked the site of the city. 

As they came nearer, upon the hillside, which we 
know as the Mount of Olives, the king pointed out 
with joy to Abiel, who was at his side, the walls of 
his own palace, which had risen so high now that 
they could be made out plainly, and then olive-trees 
in his own " hanging garden." They were mulched, 
if we may use a modern word, with those queer cones 
of mud mixed with grass, which protect the bark 
of the young trees from sun and wind. The king 
himself led the way to the east, and by a zigzag path 
which had been worn by the men dragging timber 
and stone for the new buildings. Then by a sharp 



THE LORD LOVETH THE GATES OF ZION. 175 

descent they turned up to the new city itself; and 
before the people knew it, the king and his attend- 
ants were dismounting in the open space, where 
workmen were lifting and pushing and pulling, 
pressing the work of the palace. At the moment, 
men threw down their hammers, their crowbars, 
goads, and whips, and cheered heartily. A little 
crowd of those who were venturesome approached 
the travellers ; among them a tall, handsome nurse, 
who knew she would be welcome, lifted the little 
boy Solomon from his feet and placed him in his 
father's arms. 

Very few minutes were needed now for any re- 
freshment which the old soldier needed. Water 
for his feet came as certainly as mats, and rugs, and 
cushions for rest. So soon as he and Abiel and 
Othniel and the rest had flung off the dusty cloaks 
and bernouses in which they had ridden, and had 
taken the comfort of hot water for feet 'and hands 
and face, one and another favorite brought in on 
silver trays such refreshment as was well known 
to be the favorite with each. For David, of course, 
cool milk and his barley bread ; for another, a 
lemon, or some honey, or honey cakes, or a bit of 
meat, or a dish of figs or of olives. There was no 
ceremony in the repast, — men talked or not, as 
they chose. One or another of the king's older 
sons joined the party and asked the news of the out- 
lying region from which all had come. And out- 



176 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

side, once or twice, a band of singers sang with the 
sweetness and with the precision which has made 
the singers of Israel famous from that day to this 
day. So the afternoon fared along, without care, 
without pressing duty, in the exquisite satisfaction 
and comfort of home. As the sun went down, the 
king led the others to the very summit of Zion, and 
they saw the magnificent spectacle, almost making 
out the Western Sea, as they had seen it from the 
heights of Moab. 

It was just as they began to feel the evening 
dampness there, that Abiathar, who had joined 
the group, nodded to the king, gave him his 
hand as he rose from the mat on which he lay, and 
without a word led them all round to the well- 
known square where the Tabernacle was pitched, in 
its new grandeur. A beacon made of logs well 
piled flamed brightly at each corner of the square. 
Tall poles above sustained pennons and banners. 
By one of the fires the provident priest had ordered 
furs and rugs to be thrown in abundance, and here 
again the king and his friends gathered together. 

And here David sang his praises to God, who had 
brought him safely home. And here Abiathar and 
his priests sang together in chorus. And here Abiel 
and Othniel, in quiet talk with David, told him of 
little things which had happened to them in boy- 
hood, in which they now traced Jehovah's leading 
and the sureness of his love. 



THE LORD LOVETH THE GATES OF ZION. 177 

* Abiathar," said the king, " I would gladly spend 
the night with you. This is a welcome indeed ; it 
is a thousand times better than the pageants and 
reviews, and all the grandeurs my good fellows here 
have had to stand with me." 

" I knew you would say so, my lord," said Abia- 
thar. " Before you go to sleep you must hear my 
sons of Korah say so." And he beckoned to a tall 
young man, who by a gesture called out of the 
shadows a company of singers. And they sang in 
unison : — 

" Thy foundation is in the holy mountains. 
The Lord loveth the gates of Zion 
More than all the dwellings of Jacob ; 
Glorious things of thee are spoken, 
O city of God." 



12 



Third Sunday in October. 

" In everything give thanks ; for this is the will of 
God in Christ Jesus concerning you." 

" ' The way was long, the wind was cold ; 
The minstrel was infirm and old/ " 

sang out Nell Bradley, gayly. " Only in our case 
it would seem to be the horse that is * infirm and 
old.' The minstrel, or rather the pair of them, for 
you and I have certainly improvised and sung 
enough to get up a reputation for minstrelsy, seem 
to be young and active. What are the prospects, 
Ned?" 

"Not very brilliant, Nell. So it looks to me. 
How a stable-man, even, could have the face to put 
off this lame old horse on anybody, I'm sure I 
don't know. Then, when you take the snow- 
storm, which we didn't bargain for, into account, 
it doesn't look as if we should get there in a 
hurry." 

" How far is it, Ned, now, to Dunmore ? " asked 
Kitty, the dark-complexioned girl. 

" I don't know, Kit, I 'm sure. You see we had 
this drive of thirty miles, and everything looks so 
different in the snow-storm, and we Ve come so 



180 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

slowly, that I can't tell. The train was late, and 
the man kept us waiting so long that we didn't 
leave ' Smith's ' till late. The snow set in, and then 
our old beast took lame. Is n't that a series of mis- 
fortunes ? We Ve kept to the road which seems 
plain enough • but if we don't come to some sort of 
a village before long, I think the best thing we can 
do is to stop at a farm-house and see if they won't 
take us in." 

" Oh, would n't that be fun ! " exclaimed Nell, her 
love of adventure and novelty overcoming every- 
thing else. " Let 's be on the lookout, Kitty, for a 
real, cosey, nice-looking farm-house, — one that 
' opens wide its hospitable doors/ as they say in 
novels." 

" I hope they won't open them very wide, to- 
night," answered Kitty, drawing up the buffalo- 
robes a little closer. " I 'm sure we could all crawl 
through a crack. One can't tell much by the out- 
side of a house. Now, if we were only playing 
' travellers' whist,' and could see a white cat sitting 
in the window, we should think it such good for- 
tune, we 'd stop at once." 

" Kitty Turner, what a girl you are ! Who 
else would have thought of the white cat ? It 's too 
dark to see now, though." 

" I think we shall be a little more comfortable 
and independent if we can find what they call a 
' tavern ' in these parts," said Ned ; " but we must 



IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS. 181 

take what comes. I don't think we had better go 
much farther, for the snow comes down just as if 
it meant business. If we don't see a village in a 
half-hour more, we '11 stop, and you girls be on the 
lookout for the best-looking place." 

Ned Bradley and his sister Nell lived in a country 
town. Their father, on account of his health, had 
removed from New York the year before, and Kitty 
Turner, a schoolmate and distant cousin of Nell, 
had been spending a few weeks with the Bradleys. 
The young people were now on their way to the 
house of an uncle, almost on the border-line of 
Maine, to spend Thanksgiving. They had all been 
there in summer, and Uncle John, hearing that 
Kitty was visiting Nell, suggested they should 
come and spend Thanksgiving. The girls were 
crazy to go, and Ned, nothing loath, offered to es- 
cort them. So they sent word to Uncle John not 
to send down to " Smiths," as usual, for them, but 
if they came they'd find a conveyance and drive 
over. Lucky they said "if ; " for when Uncle John 
found they did not come that night, he merely 
said, " I suppose Mary saw this storm com- 
ing up, and didn't think it safe for the girls 
to start. She was always weather-wise, was 
Mary." 

But to go back to the merry party in the 
sleigh. The half-hour passed, and no "tavern" 
came in sight. The farm-houses had not looked 



182 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

very inviting, so Ned concluded to drive on a little 
farther. 

" ' Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness ! ' " 
mockingly deplored Nell. 

" ' I remember, I remember, the house where I 
was born/ or rather where my grandmother was 
born, perhaps," retorted Kitty, not to be outdone by 
Nell, and pointing to an old house which certainly 
did not look as if it had been built in this 
generation. 

" I 'm not sure but we shall have to see what we 
can do there," said Ned, looking anxiously about. 
" I don't see anything else, it 's beginning to snow 
faster, and this beast grows lamer every minute. 
I 'm awfully sorry for him, too, and hate to make 
him go a step farther." 

" All right," said Nell. " Let 's drive cautiously 
round and take a good look. I feel like people 
who used to ask for 'cold victuals,' don't you, 
Kit ? " 

" Not quite ; but I do hope they are honest, clean 
people, and will take us in. There ! they hear us 
now. There 's a little girl peeping out the window. 
You go, Ned, and inquire." 

Nell held the reins of the willing horse, and Ned 
stumbled up to the door, which opened wide, and 
the girls heard a cheery voice call out : " Lost your 
way, I expect. There don't many people come this 
way unless they have." 



IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS. 183 

" No," said Ned, " I don't know as we 've lost 
our way. We 're going to Dunmore, but got be- 
lated. The storm came on, and the old horse took 
lame, and we are stranded. Can you put us up 
here ? " 

" Oh, yes," answered the cheery voice, without 
any ado. " Of course we can. You 're about a 
mile off the road. We 've nothing very grand ; but 
we 're comfortable. Come right in, and Henry will 
look after your horse." 

Ned helped the girls out with their bags, and 
conveyed them safely to the door. 

" Two of you ! " said the cheery voice. " Well, 
never mind. 'T is n't as big a house as it might be, 
but we 're thankful for what we 've got, and glad 
to share it with others. Come right into the kitchen 
and get warmed up." 

Nell and Kitty looked in surprise as the kitchen 
firelight showed the owner of the loud, cheery voice 
to be a most demure little old lady. She caught 
the look, and laughed : — 

" I ain't much in size, am I ? Well, I 've got the 
use of my legs and arms and am pretty spry. Aunt 
Louisa (she pronounced it as if spelled Loisy, with 
a sharp i) now, can't use her legs ; but she 's mighty 
handy with her hands, and old Uncle Dan, her hus- 
band, he got both his hands torn to pieces with a 
gun. Only one pair of feet and hands between 'em ! 
Lucky, ain't they, that they ain't got four hands 



184 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

and no feet, or four feet and no hands ? Now, 
that 's what I say ; they 've got a lot to be thankful 
for." 

" So they have," said Nell, feeling she must make 
some response, and busying herself with her wraps 
while she hid her face in her boa. 

" Here, now, girls and boys, you just carry of. 
the young ladies' things. You can set right in 
front of the fire, and I '11 make you a cup of tea 
to warm you up. Lucy, you set the table and 
put some bread and molasses on, while I bile the 
kettle." 

Kitty looked at Nell, but Nell was strug- 
gling with the strap of her " arctic." She did n't 
care to meet Kitty's fun-loving eyes just then. 
Bread and molasses was too much for their 
gravity. 

" There now, girls," said the cheery old lady, " set 
right up to the table. There 's two chairs, and the 
young man can use that keg. I nailed a back on it. 
Ain't it nice ? I was so lucky as to have those old 
barrel staves to make a back of. It sets good, don't 
it ? " and the old lady drew off and looked at it with 
admiring eyes. Her dress was patched and faded, 
but the bright, loving, thankful look in her face 
glorified her. 

Nell caught the infection, and seizing the keg, 
declared she would make one just like it in memory 
of that visit. Kitty, too, declared the chair so com- 



IN EVEEYTHING GIVE THANKS. 185 

fortable that she must have it, and drew it up to the 
table. 

" May the Lord make us grateful for all our bless- 
ings ! " said the old lady reverently, as she placed 
the tea upon the table. 

" 'T ain't nothing but raspberry tea," she explained. 
" Last year was a good year for raspberries, and it 
just so come about that we saved all the leaves we 
want, — not to be extravagant," she corrected her- 
self, " but to have enough for ourselves ; and folks 
who don't have as much as we do are real glad when 
they 're sick to get a little sup." 

The girls wondered in their inmost hearts who 
the people were who were poorer in this world's 
goods than the cheery-voiced old lady. 

" It 's good, ain't it ? " continued she, bent on be- 
ing hospitable. "You see we have quite a little 
family here, and we can't afford to have real tea ; 
but this is just about as good. We have milk, and 
that 's a blessing." 

" Well, I think you have a family ! " cried Nell, 
in astonishment, as Henry came in from putting 
up the horse, and the children returned, who had 
carried away the wraps, and began to cuddle down 
on the floor in the corner. 

" A little family," she repeated ; " it 's what Aunt 
Susan used to call a ' round family.' " 

" How many have you, Mrs. ? " asked Kitty, 

hesitatingly. 



186 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" My name is Higgins. It 's a good name, is n't 
it ? Not a bit of stain on it. I don't know what I 
should do if I had a name I was ashamed of. But, 
bless you ! I ain't Mrs. ; I ain't married ! " 

" Not married 1 " gasped Kitty. " Why, whose 
children are these ? " 

" Well, three of 'em is my brother's. When he 
died, there was n't anybody to take care of 'em. 
Was n't it lucky I had this house ? You had better 
believe I was thankful. Then four of 'em — well, 
I dunno who they do belong to ; I got one at a 
'sylum. She wanted a home, and I had one. 
Then her brother did n't want her to go away, 
and he cried, and it did seem sort of hard when 
I had so much," and the old lady glanced around 
as if she were a queen, and the little old house 
an empire, " to leave him out ; and the other 
two I found in the woods. They didn't seem 
to belong to anybody. Was n't I glad I found . 
'em ? Mercy ! What if I had n't ! They 'd have 
died. 

" Well, there 's three more, ain't there ? They be- 
long to a family I used to know when I was a girl. 
I was kinder sorry to take 'em, at first, but you 
don't know how handy they are ; I could n't get on 
without 'em, and I 've been glad I took 'em ever 
since. Come, now, Jimmy and Jack, don't stand 
there staring at the ladies, but clear off the table 
and scud away to bed." 



IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS. 187 

Jimmy and Jack obeyed with alacrity, drinking 
what was left of the raspberry tea, and smack- 
ing their lips with delight at the unexpected 
treat. 

Kitty and Nell drew up to the fire again, while 
Ned talked with Henry about the snow-storm, and 
the prospects of the morrow's journey. 

The old lady took up her knitting and drew up 
to the fire too. A bright-looking girl, Nancy, who 
had been patching a pair of trousers, now joined the 
group with her knitting, and the younger children, 
after a little chattering among themselves, stole off 
to bed. 

Nell and Kitty had fallen " desperately in love," 
as Ned said afterwards, with the funny little old 
woman who was so thankful for everything, even 
the children who had been cast upon her love. The 
poor old house, shabby as it was, took on an air of 
comfort, which nothing but the old lady's cheeriness 
could have given. Nell thought of her own home, 
that sometimes she grumbled at because it had so 
few of what she, a New York girl, called " luxuries," 
and Kitty thought of hers, which had yet more. 
No such happy, grateful spirit was theirs. They 
longed to know more about the dear old woman in 
the patched gown, with the cheery voice, who found 
cause for gratitude in everything. There she sat by 
the kitchen fire, knitting away, unconscious of the 
reverence and love with which the girls were already 



188 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

regarding her. Her fingers were crooked with hard 
work ; her back was bent ; her hair was gray ; her 
face was wrinkled; her gown was coarse and 
patched ; but all this was redeemed by the happy, 
cheerful look which never left her face. "My 
Princess," Nell dubbed her, and the name clung to 
her in the after years of happy friendship. What- 
ever her real name was, the girls never remembered 
to use it. 

" Have you always lived here ? " asked Nell, by 
the way of starting the conversation, and hoping to 
learn more of her history and the secret of her 
gratitude. 

" Dear, no ! I was born, and lived till I was 
grown, down in Alton, about ten miles from here. 
My father gave me this little piece of ground with 
the old house on it. One day he said in fun, ■ Mary 
Jane, there's that five-acre lot over there in the 
woods. Nobody '11 buy it, and I 've a good mind to 
give it to you.' I was so sort of pleased with the 
idea that he gave me the deed the next day. So, 
you see, when he died, and there was only Joe and 
me (Joe was my youngest brother) at home, and not 
much money, we were thankful enough we had this 
old house. You see, Joe he had a stroke of paraly- 
sis, and he was helpless for a good while. He had 
an accident that brought it on. He used to be the 
strongest fellow in the village, and you see when he 
got helpless, he could n't bear to see folks. Well, 



IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS. 189 

now, wasn't it lucky we had this place, way off 
from folks ? We would n't have been any better 
off if we 'd had a mint of money, would we ? We 
just came and settled right down here, and here we 
stayed. Sometimes folks we used to know take it 
into their heads to come and see us and bring us 
something or other. 'Most always, when they kill 
a pig down to the village, somebody sends us a 
piece. We Ve got a cow, and the children and I can 
do considerable farming one way and another. You 
see how comfortable we are ! " and she looked 
around the room with a glance of pride and satis- 
faction. " Now, my dears, you must go to bed and 
get rested," and she led the way into an adjoining 
room, where there were two beds. One was already 
occupied by three of the little children. An old 
curtain was stretched across (evidently temporarily), 
for a sort of screen. Everything was old and patched 
and faded, but it was also clean and wholesome. 
The dear little old woman made no apology, but 
told them what a lovely view there was in the 
morning from the window, and then bade them 
" good-night." 

" Kitty," said Nell, after they had cuddled down 
in bed, " don't you think 't would be kind of nice 
to stay over Thanksgiving here, and make a nice 
dinner for these children ? " 

"Oh, Nell!" exclaimed Kitty, almost jumping 
up in bed, " how did you happen to think of it ? 



190 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. . 

Would n't it be just splendid ? Uncle John don't 
know we 're really coming, and he won't feel a bit 
worried about us. At home, they '11 all think we 're 
safe at Uncle John's, and so they won't worry. I 
don't see as there's any reason why we can't. 
Ned can go down to the village to-morrow morning 
and get lots of things. I heard the ' Princess ' say 
't was only two miles off. I should n't wonder if 
she herself should prove a 'dabster' at cooking, 
and we can do something, thanks to cooking- 
school." 

"That's perfectly lovely!" cried Nell. "Let's 
get to sleep as quick as we can, and start out early 
in the morning to get ready." 

The next morning the girls were awake and 
dressed by daylight. Eagerly they told their plans 
to Ned, who approved, and made many helpful sug- 
gestions. He readily agreed to make the purchases, 
and hurried off to feed the poor old horse, which 
had recovered from his lameness, though the defect 
of age still hampered him. The " Princess " was 
interviewed, and agreed to keep them for a couple 
of days. Nell half explained their plans, and the 
dear old soul was overjoyed. 

" How good of you ! " she cried. " Was ever any- 
body so fortunate ! Just to think that we should 
have such a merry-making in our house ! " 

The day was lovely. The storm had ceased in 
the night, but the snow was deep. Ned started for 



IN EVERYTHING GIVE THANKS. 191 

the village with two of the children tucked in the 
back seat. He was loaded down with orders by the 
girls, who called after him not to forget " this " or 
"that" as long as he was within hearing distance. 
It was near noon when he returned. The whole 
family were anxiously looking, and could hardly 
wait for the unpacking. 

" My ! what a turkey," cried Nancy. " Won't 
this be a real Thanksgiving!" 

" Cranberry sauce all the way from Cape Cod ! " 
sung out Ned, as he pulled out some cans of cran- 
berry. Eaisins, flour, vegetables, fruit, suet, mince- 
meat all made, — everything which the village 
afforded was there to spread a Thanksgiving feast. 
The little children could not contain their joy, and 
even the "Princess," after the pies were baked, 
that night, and the raisins all stoned for the pud- 
ding, stole softly out to the shed to take another 
look at the big turkey. 

Another bright day for Thanksgiving! Every- 
thing was ready. Each little pair of feet had trotted 
and done its best to help in the great preparations. 
Never was such excitement since the time of the 
little " Cratchits." As they drew up the two 
chairs, the old keg, the two seats from the sleigh, 
and some old boxes, the "Princess" said, with 
bowed head, — 

"For all our blessings, O Lord, make us truly 
thankful ! " 



192 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" Who could have thought, when the storm came 
on that night, that it would be such a blessing to 
us ? " she said. 

"And to us," rejoined Nell, eagerly. "No, do 
not thank us. We thank you for teaching us the 
lesson of gratitude." 

" May we always remember, like you, dear Prin- 
cess," said Kitty, " in everything to give thanks." 



Fourth Sunday in October. 

Being justified by faith, we have peace with God 
through our Lord Jesus Christ." 



i 



WILL not bear it another day/' said Pierre, 
as his master went out of the room, swinging 
the door heavily, in his anger, as he closed it behind 
him. 

And as Pierre went on with his work, he said 
again and again, " I will not bear it another day." 
But he would not leave anything undone which he 
ought to do. He cleaned the knives ; he cleaned 
the silver-plate and polished it ; he swept the floors ; 
he rubbed the black oak table till it shone like a 
mirror ; he went to his master's room and brushed 
his clothes ; he even took the long vest which had 
appeared at a great dinner-party the day before, and 
with diligent use of chalk and soap took out some 
spots left by incautious eating. He carried the long 
boots downstairs, cleaned them and polished them. 
Then, when he had taken them to the cupboard 
where they belonged, he said for the fortieth time, 
" I will not bear it another day." 

Pierre Morin was a boy who did not remember 
his own father or mother. They had both died 



194: SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

when he was too young to remember them, and the 
poor child had been fed and reared in a touch-and- 
go way, by all sorts of people. There had been an 
old godmother who, till she died, saw he did not 
starve. There were some gypsies outside the city, 
who let him stay with them one summer. Then, 
for a few years, which he looked back upon with a 
certain regret, he had been a choir-boy at the cathe- 
dral. Father William had been good to him, and 
Father Stephen had been cross to him; the big 
boys had plagued him and the little boys had played 
with him. As he looked back on it, the kicks and 
cuffs and scoldings were forgotten, and the music 
which he loved, the good-natured Father William, 
the comfortable bed at night, the plentiful though 
simple meals of every day, were remembered. But 
a year ago his sweet contralto voice had changed. 
The priests wanted him no longer in the choir. He 
had drifted, nobody knew how, into the great kitchen 
of this house. Here he made himself useful in 
forty ways. Nobody had ever hired him ; nobody 
had ever asked him to stay. But after the family 
had eaten, and the weavers and spinners had eaten, 
and the maids and grooms, and the butler, and the 
baker, and the cook had eaten, then Pierre was per- 
mitted to eat whatever there was left, with the scul- 
lions and the two stable-boys. There was a blanket 
and a heap of straw for him in one of the stable 
stalls. And so he lived from day to day. He had 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 195 

proved useful to everybody, and so lie was per- 
mitted to stay. 

But to-day his master had beaten him, on a com- 
plaint from the cook, just as Pierre was holding the 
stirrup of his horse. The cook came out, swelling 
with anger, to the courtyard, and accused Pierre of 
stealing the eggs, which he had been sent to the 
hayloft to find and to bring. In truth, the eggs 
were at that moment in a basket on the cook's shelf ; 
but the boy had gone and come so quickly that the 
cook had not seen him. Another boy had reported 
that there were no eggs in the hay. So the cook 
reported Pierre as a thief, and his master had struck 
him across the face twice with his riding-whip. So 
it was that the boy said, " I will not bear it another 
day." 

And he did not bear it another day. 

Only the Friday before had the vanguard of the 
Crusaders' column arrived in Lyons on its way to 
the wars. Every day in the great square had been 
a great assembly, — a banner had been blessed, or 
a procession of priests had come out with the 
Sacrament from the church, and given the sacred 
wafer to some prince as he rode at the head of his 
host. Day by day new companies had come in, 
and had gone away. Only the day before the arch- 
bishop had told the people that he should go. And 
he had said that if any man wished to follow in 
his train, he should be released from any duty he 



196 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

had in Lyons, and that he would have good chance 
of much more than he gave up in this life, and in 
the world to come, " life everlasting." 

As Pierre went back to the stable, with his eye 
swollen and his face bleeding, he remembered what 
he had heard the archbishop say ; and as he made 
his little preparations for marching with the host, 
it was a comfort to him to think that he was going 
into the immediate company of those who tried to 
serve the Lord. It brought back the pleasantest 
memories of the days when he was a choir-boy. 

Just before noon, therefore, as a company of 
knights from Brittany, with their troops of retainers, 
took up the line of march, Pierre joined in the 
motley throng. He had a stick on his shoulder with 
a pack of such matters as he hated to leave behind 
him on the shelf in the stable, which had come to 
be accounted his. For the rest, he had no change of 
clothing, and must trust to luck, as indeed most of 
his new companions did, when what he now wore 
dropped off from him. Whose boy he was, or to 
which troop he belonged, nobody cared, nobody 
asked ; and Pierre could not have told if they had 
asked. Enough for him that he no longer served 
the cruel, rich master of weavers whose crusts he 
ate yesterday. 

So they all came to the bridge. And here was a 
long delay, — much cursing and swearing, orders 
and counter-orders, complaints and remonstrances, 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 197 

as different men, used to authority and expecting 
obedience, tried each to gain the right to cross for 
his own party. At last a big Breton knight, gath- 
ering six or eight others who wore his colors, 
turned from the river and bridge, and slowly but 
surely bore back, by some twenty paces, the whole 
throng. Then he screamed so loud that all near 
him could hear : " Thouars, Thouars, to the front — 
all else to the rear ! Thouars, forward — forward, 
Thouars ! " 

It was the first time, and almost the last, that 
Pierre knew that he was a liege-man of Thouars, 
whoever he might be. But he pressed forward, — 
was among the first that did. The horsemen turned, 
well satisfied with a pretence of command, and, five 
abreast, led the way. Behind them followed, in one 
close jam, the company of those who had been 
quelled for a moment. Once and again the gigantic 
leader turned to say, " Too fast ! too fast ! — not so 
fast." But, indeed, he might as well have spoken 
to the waves of the sea. The multitude poured on, 
and an ominous tremor beneath their feet justified 
his anxiety. It was all too late, however. A crash 
behind — a yell — a thousand yells — and then 
Pierre felt his own foothold give way. He saw a 
great timber rise in front of him and strike the 
shouting knight from his horse, and at the same in- 
stant, amid men, timbers, and horses, he plunged 
into the river. 



198 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Of those around him, almost all were killed. 
This he knew within an hour. For himself, it was 
as if some invisible hand protected him, — hardly 
a scratch, no heavy blow. He sank deep in the 
current ; he had wit enough to know that it was 
best that he should. He had lost his staff and 
his pack. He made no attempt to rise from the 
ruin till he had swum as far as he could without 
breathing. Then he rose, and found himself quite 
outside of the great wreck of timbers and of strug- 
gling horses, among which he could see the figures 
of a few men. 

Fortunately for him, his own company were 
almost on the eastern bank of the river before 
the bridge gave way. The boy was a good 
swimmer, and with a hundred strokes he made 
the shore. 

What now ? The boy was devout enough to 
thank God for his preservation. He had had too 
much experience of hard life to be troubled now 
by wearing wet clothes, and he had but little to 
lose, and that he had lost. He stood, as he had 
sometimes stood before, as nearly alone as any child 
of God could be. He dragged himself from the 
water, threw off his outer clothing, and left it in 
the mocking sunlight to dry, and then turned to see 
if he could be of any assistance to others who had 
shared his fortune. 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 199 

But no ; it seemed as if he were the only person 
who had survived that crash of falling timber, and 
the swift current of the stream was sweeping the 
whole wreck far away from him. He could see 
above where the men-at-arms and others had turned 
to the eastern side of the bridge ; but there was 
little that they could do. Indeed, there was 
nothing that they could do ; and though there 
was much shouting backwards and forwards, it was 
clear that they could not do anything. Least of all 
could Pierre do anything. Therefore, as he had 
determined to go to the Crusades, he simply said to 
himself, " I will go on as if nothing had happened ; " 
but this was not so easy. He took his wet coat 
upon his arm, climbed up the bank of the river, and 
ran along the roadway, hoping to attach himself to 
some party of the advance. 

Accordingly, before long he found a little bivouac 
which proved to be a knot of belated men from 
northern Burgundy, who had already made their 
fire and were arranging for their supper. Poor 
Pierre joined them, in the hope that his woe-begone 
appearance might gain him some mercy, but found 
he was quite mistaken. The moment they saw that 
he even sat by their fire, they began abusing him as 
a drowned rat and a wet dog, and, in fact, put on 
him so much contumely that, so soon as he had a 
little dried his jacket, he took up his line of march 
and went forward. The boy was hungry, lie had 



200 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

nothing to eat ; he was cold, and began to feel that 
crusading was no joke. It was some time before 
he came to another fire, and here he was more 
cautious ; but no sooner had he shown himself than 
he was driven off again. The third experience was 
even worse ; for the men at this bivouac were half 
drunk, were fighting with each other over a game 
of dice, aud when poor Pierre asked, modestly 
enough, if he might sit by their fire, one of them, 
in worse condition than the others, took him by 
the collar and beat him savagely over the head. 
The boy was not strong enough to resist, was taken 
at ill advantage, and was glad indeed to escape, this 
time with the loss of his jacket, from the inhuman 
blows of this man. It was now perfectly dark ; he 
was half-clothed, hungry, freezing, and alone. 

Almost dead, the poor fellow crawled away iuto 
the darkness, with hardly more thought of what he 
could do next than a poor whipped cur would have 
had ; indeed, the cur could not have been worse 
treated. He walked, without knowing how or 
whither. 

But of a sudden, as the thought formed itself in 
his mind that these disciples of the Cross were be- 
ginning very early with their fighting, he was roused 
by a dog's bark, and began to wonder if he had 
more enemies to meet with. He hardly cared what 
happened to him, however, and though he stood 
still a moment, he did not think of running away. 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 201 

The dog barked again, and then was hushed by 
his master. Pierre was near enough to see the man 
as he came out and took the dog by the collar. 

A sudden impulse seized him, and he hailed the 
stranger. " I have lost my way. Where can I sleep 
to-night ? " 

In a singularly soft and pleasant tone the other 
replied : " It was you, then, my bad dog barked at ? 
Do you want a night's lodging ? Here it is, in our 
home. Come in, come in ; are you one of the 
soldiers ? They have been passing us all day." 

Poor Pierre had needed words of kindness all 
day long, and these were the first that he had 
heard. He was ready to cry, and would have done 
so if he had thought it manly ; but he thanked the 
other, and followed as he led. 

The cabin into which they entered was a place 
such as the little boy of Lyons had never seen be- 
fore. Only the day before he would have scorned 
it and the people who lived in it. But to see a fire 
blazing on the hearth, to have a kind hand given 
him by the woman of the house, who led him di- 
rectly from the door to the fire, and expressed her 
surprise and sorrow at his bedraggled and woe- 
begone appearance, — this was enough to make 
him see that there were things better than oak 
floors and tapestry hangings. The cabin was built 
partly of rough stones, partly of logs of wood not 
hewn, and the floor was simply of earth, beaten by 



202 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

the tread, perhaps, of generations. The light was 
very faint ; a single rush candle was burning on a 
shelf above the fire, and the blaze of peat gave most 
of the light that there was in the room. 

" You are wet, you are wet, my poor friend," said 
the hospitable matron of the place. " Why are you 
so wet ? We have had no rain." 

Then the boy told briefly of the terrible calamity 
of the bridge. Meanwhile, as he spoke, the good 
woman had brought warm water and a cloth, and 
before the boy knew it, she was wiping the blood 
which was matted in his hair. By this time her 
husband had quieted the dog, and by a hasty 
survey without had made sure that it was poor 
Pierre alone who had started him, and now returned 
to the cottage. He listened intently to the story, 
and said, — 

" And some timber struck you on the head ? " 

The boy explained that he swam out free from 
any harm, and then said, almost bitterly, "The 
waters were kinder to me than the land," and then 
told the story of the drunken brute who had treated 
him so hardly. 

The husband and wife listened with sympathy, 
looking at each other as if they were not very 
greatly surprised, and then the man said : — 

"They are a rough set so soon as they leave 
home. Let us pray that before they meet the Sara- 
cens they will know better the spirit of Christ." 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 203 

And the good woman asked Pierre, with some 
earnestness, whether he thought that the host had 
nearly passed by. 

Then it appeared that the passage of this host of 
the followers of Christ had been for two weeks past 
one constant occasion of terror, and that the little 
garden of Pierre's two friends had been absolutely L 
wasted and ravaged by the soldiers. 

" This is the reason why the dog treated you so 
badly. He is generally a good dog; but for the 
last two weeks he has had so many cuffs which he 
did not deserve, that he is afraid of all strangers. 
When the army has gone by, we shall teach him 
his old good manners again ; " and the peasant 
smiled pleasantly as he said this. 

The boy was as hungry as he was cold ; but he 
did not dare to say so, in the midst of such kind- 
ness as was shown to him. Little need was there 
of speech, however. The good woman lifted her 
heavy soup-kettle from the hearth, hung it upon 
the very longest pot-hook on the crane, slid it to 
the very middle of the heap of peat below, then 
opened the fire, and with a fan made of goose- 
feathers worked away upon the embers so that they 
grew red, and at last even white, below. This care 
was taken at intervals by her husband, as she re- 
sumed her personal attentions to Pierre. The pot 
did not fail to respond to these solicitations. By 
the time the poor boy's feet began to feel warm, 



204 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

and as soon as the dry bandage, scented with lav- 
ender, was applied to his forehead in such guise as 
satisfied his nurse, the rough plate which covered 
the pot began to tap uneasily with little droll 
jumps which let out larger and larger gouts of 
steam. On these signals the crane was pulled 
rapidly round, and with a great earthen cup the 
mistress dipped out the stew which the pot con- 
tained. Pierre's hopes had been rising, and it was 
clear enough that the preparations were for him. 
A deep, rough earthen dish was placed at his side, 
with a horn spoon ; but before his host or his 
hostess made any offer to him, the man knelt on 
one side and his wife on the other, and he said, 
" Let us thank the good Lord for all his mercies." 
Pierre was not slow to follow their example, — he 
might well be in thankful mood, and indeed he was. 
And when his new friend, in a few simple words, 
did thank God for the gift of life and the food that 
sustained it, the poor boy, yet wondering at all 
that happened, gladly said, "Amen." 

He had been hungry before ; but it seemed to 
him that he had never been so hungry as he was 
now. He had been so brought up, that with a cer- 
tain decorum he did not want to seem as ravenous 
as a sparrow or a raven; but he could not help 
showing how much he needed food. Nor was he 
slow in his expression of thanks. Again and again 
he broke from the great slice of barley-bread which 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 205 

was by him and dipped the bits into the dish. His 
hostess, well pleased, encouraged him, and filled 
it for him again and again. But he had not satis- 
fied himself, when all three were startled by a yell 
of agony, and the dog, who was wakened by it, 
rushed again to the door with howls of displeasure. 

The peasant Morin was on his feet first, threw 
up the heavy bar which held the door, and rushed 
out into the night. An instant more, and he called 
his wife, and was joined by the ready Pierre. 

Not five paces from the cottage there lay the 
body of the man who had uttered the cry ; and now, 
without sense apparently, he was gasping for breath 
as he lay. 

Morin knelt on one side, and Pierre did the same 
on the other. 

" Try to lift him," said the man. " Gabrielle, come 
here, and take him with the boy." He lifted on 
the left side himself, Pierre and she on the right, 
and with some effort they dragged him into the cot- 
tage, where the light from the glowing fire showed 
who and what he was. Dame Morin brought the 
rush-light so that she could see his pale face. 

" It is he," she said, fairly shivering. 

" It is indeed he," said Morin. 

Pierre looked upon the agonized face, and readily 
made out that this was the drunken brute who had 
struck him. " It is he," said he also, to the surprise 
of the other two. 



206 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" You are in for it to-night, my dear wife/ 1 said 
Morin ; " but now we have an attendant in our 
hospice." He bade the boy fill with hot water the 
same bowl which but just now had been used for 
bathing his head. With his wife's help he loosened 
the tighter bandages of the ruffian's clothes. Then 
he and Pierre and she managed to lift the brute 
upon the only bed in the room, and with cares just 
like those she had lavished on Pierre, she began 
wiping away the blood from a wound, far heavier 
than he had inflicted on the boy, by which he 
had himself been struck down. 

With an activity bred of the kindness they had 
shown to him, Pierre obeyed every direction, and 
with his own good sense anticipated more than one 
wish of the careful nurse. In half an hour's time, 
with chafing of the hands and feet, and sharp rub- 
bing of the legs with a hard cloth, the pressure of 
blood seemed called off from the brain ; at least, the 
man ceased to moan, breathed regularly, and it was 
clear that he was not dying. His breath was so 
tainted with the smell of the wine that had im- 
bruted him, that it was clear he needed no stimu- 
lant which they could give to his stomach. The 
woman even consulted her husband as to whether 
she should not try to relieve that stomach from the 
load it bore. But he bade her leave her patient, 
now that he could sleep, and suggested one and 
another arrangement by which a bed should be 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 207 

made for Pierre upon the floor, and for her in the 
closet. " For me," he said, " I will watch with him. 
He will need other care before morning, it may be. 
I should be sorry to be asleep, if it were so." 

His wife proposed first that she should be the 
night nurse, and, when he refused, tried to make 
him say that he would call her before the night 
turned. Pierre observed that he did not commit 
himself to this. She then hospitably returned to 
Pierre and filled a bowl with warm soup for him, 
which she compelled him to partake of. Then, and 
not till then, did she bid them both good-night, 
first feeling of the pulse of their unconscious 
patient. 

Pierre finished the soup, and declared, laughing, 
to Morin that even he could eat no more. But be- 
fore he obeyed the other, who advised him to lie 
down for his night's sleep, he said, " My friend, 
I want to talk with you. We need not wake 
him." 

The other took a seat by the fireside, as if to bid 
the lad go on. 

" Why did you say, 'It is he ' ? " said Pierre, 
" and why did your good wife say so ? " 

" Oh," said Morin, a little disconcerted, " it is — 
well, it is the man who yesterday morning had taken 
all our pigs from the shed, and carried them off to 
his company. They have been camping above here 
all day. She followed him; she begged him to 



208 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

leave us one, — the smallest. But no ; he had no 
mercy. He threatened her with blows, and I was 
not here." 

" How did you know it was he ? " 

" Oh, she had described him to me. I had seen 
him myself; I had gone to their lair, to try to 
recover the little pig ; but it was too late. They 
had killed them all, and had sold those they did not 
eat. And he threatened me — yes with this very 
hanger;" and he pointed to the short sword they 
had taken from the man. " And why did you say, 
' It is he/ also ? " 

" I said so, because he is the man who gave me 
this blow," said the boy. And now his eyes flashed, 
and he said, " I am afraid I should not have nursed 
him as you do. And me — you only know me as 
one of them ; though indeed, indeed, sir, I am 
none of them or theirs ; God forbid. How is it that 
you are so good to your enemies ? " 

" Have you .never heard of One that said, ' Love 
your enemies ' ? " 

" Love your enemies — no, sir — no, indeed ; I 
thought men fought their enemies." 

" Listen to me, dear friend, listen to me," said 
Morin, " and you shall learn better. Pray to the 
good God to-night, if it is only in an 'Our Father/ 
and He will teach you better. ' As we forgive those 
who trespass against us,' — think of what you mean 
when you say that. And try it, dear boy ; you 



WE HAVE PEACE WITH GOD. 209 

shall yet learn that love is better than hate, even 
as you will learn that God is stronger than man." 

" But these men do you nothing but harm, and 
you do them nothing but good. How can you help 
hating them ? " 

" Learn of Him, my boy ; that is all I can say. 
One day the dear Father and His dear Son will show 
you what the peace of God is. It is beyond all 
understanding, my boy, as you said just now. But 
one day — God grant it — it shall be yours." 

" God grant it, indeed," said the wondering boy ; 
" but I have been always almost afraid to pray, I 
have sinned against Him so much and so often." 

" Never fear, never fear, my boy ; least of all 
fear Him, who is your constant friend. You have 
only to trust Him, and He will care for you. And 
you, when you are justified with God, shall find 
you have peace with Him. It comes to you cer- 
tainly, dear boy ; it comes through our Lord Jesus 
Christ." 



14 



First Sunday in November. 
"Honor thy father and thy mother" 

"\T7HQ'S elected? Who's elected, Billy?" 

V V we all shouted out, as Billy's sturdy little 
figure appeared at the gate. But we hardly needed 
an answer, for his face was bright with smiles as he 
waved the mail-bag in the air and danced up to the 
door. 

By common consent, we gave the paper to Grand- 
father, and he sat down and read aloud the accounts 
of the returns from the different States, while we 
grouped ourselves about the piazza, listening to the 
encouraging news. 

" Well," said Grandfather, as he dropped the 
paper and put his glasses away, — " well, I 'm glad, 
for one, that Irving Hamilton is elected President ; 
and mark my words, children, he '11 make an ex- 
cellent one." 

" Do you know him, Grandfather ? " asked 
Emma. 

" Yes," he replied, " I Ve known him since he was 
a boy ; and besides having the greatest respect for 
his ability and accomplishments, there is one thing 



212 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

about him that always struck me very forcibly, and 
that was the true love and regard he always showed 
toward his parents." And then, as we all seemed 
interested, Grandfather began telling us about the 
different times that he had seen Hamilton. 

" The first time I ever saw Irving Hamilton/' he 
began, "was at the old school-house in Havistown. 
It was the last week in June, and all the people in 
the village had come together to see the exhibition, 
or ' last day,' of the little school. Your father was 
one of the older boys, and I went to see him gradu- 
ate. When the exercises were about to begin, the 
teacher rose, and stated that a medal had been 
offered to the boy whose declamation was the best, 
and that in his mind the final judgment should be 
left in the hands of the audience. This made us 
even more interested in hearing the speakers than 
we were before ; and as the first of the little orators 
walked rather unsteadily up to the platform, there 
was really a good deal of excitement. But the little 
fellow somehow lost his presence of mind, and 
forgot his piece, so that he was forced to return 
rather ignominiously and very tearfully to his desk. 
Several others followed him with varying success, 
and finally young Hamilton rose. I can't remember 
what the piece was about ; but from the moment he 
began to speak, all nervousness, if he had had any, 
seemed to leave him, and he became so absorbed 
in his subject that I think that for the time being 



HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 213 

he forgot all about the little gold medal. As he 
finished, he was greeted with a real storrn of ap- 
plause and congratulations, and then for the first 
time he seemed a little frightened and embarrassed. 
There was really no question as to who had won 
the prize, and Hamilton was called up before every 
one to receive the medal. Before he went back to 
his desk he ran up to his mother, who was sitting 
near me, and kissed her. It was of course a little 
thing, but it pleased me ; and from that moment I 
began to take interest in the lad. 

" A year or so afterward your Uncle Stephen per- 
suaded me, one day, to go over to the Academy 
playgrounds, and see the nine play against the 
Millville boys. I knew very little about base- 
ball, but I was interested in the Academy, and so 
thought I would go to see the game. As I remem- 
ber, the match was for the championship of the 
county, and consequently every one was very much 
excited. Quite a number of Millville retainers were 
grouped on one side of the field, while all of us had 
gathered on the opposite side. Irving Hamilton 
was the captain of the Academy nine, and I can tell 
you, children, as he stood out there on the ball-field 
he was a fine-looking fellow, -r- rather slender, it is 
true, but very strong and wiry. 

"The game began, and the Millvilles soon got 
quite a lead, much to our dismay ; but as time went 
on we began to creep up, and as the men took their 



214 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

places in the last ' inning ' — do you say ? — the 
score stood ten to eight against us. 

"In some way, I'm sure I don't know how, 
two of the Academy boys rushed around to the 
bases, and then Hamilton came up with his bat. 
Two or three balls went by him, and then one came 
which I suppose he liked, for I tell you, children, 
he struck that ball such a hit that I 'm not sure 
that it has reached the ground yet. Away ran the 
Millville fielders after it, and round the bases went 
Hamilton, with the two others before him. And 
then, I never heard such a noise in my life. Every 
one was shouting and dancing about, and even your 
old grandfather threw his hat in the air and em- 
braced the peanut-man, who chanced to be standing 
near. After things had become rather quieter, we 
all went over to the town-hall, where one of the 
most distinguished men of the county made a long 
speech about the benefits of athletics, and base- 
ball in particular, ending finally by presenting the 
championship pennant to young Hamilton, as a 
token of that day's victory. But before Irving 
went back to his place with the nine, I noticed 
that he ran up to his father and gave him both 
his hands, while his handsome face glowed with 
pleasure. 

" But perhaps I tire you with these somewhat 
unconnected memories. Let us all go out for a 
sail." 



HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 215 

We all assured him that we were deeply inter- 
ested, as indeed w,e were ; but Grandfather carried 
his point, and five minutes later we were all skim- 
ming along over the water to Whale Kock, which 
lay seven or eight miles out, just beyond Moon 
Island light. 

"Why not have some more about our little 
base-ball captain ? " asked Emma. And as 
every one else seemed anxious that we should, 
Grandfather continued his little talk about 
Hamilton. 

" Let me see," he began ; " the next time I saw 
Hamilton was at Cambridge. It was Class Day, — 
his Class Day, by the way, — and all of us old 
graduates had gone down to see the younger fellows 
enjoy themselves. I had a very happy time that 
day. As soon as I got out to Harvard Square I 
chanced to meet a number of my classmates, and we 
all went about in a body to see the old rooms where 
we had spent so many happy hours, and afterward 
we wandered about the yard talking over the old 
stories and laughing over the old jokes. But as we 
walked, we saw that every one was going over to 
the old tree where the graduating class always hold 
part of their exercises. Accordingly, as we had 
seats, we also made our way thither and sat down, 
waiting to see all the fun. First the Freshman 
Class filed into the little enclosure, then the Sopho- 
mores and Juniors, and lastly the Seniors, dressed, 



216 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

children, in the most strange-looking and dilapidated 
clothes you ever saw. And when all was ready, 
the head marshal of the class stepped out before 
them all to lead them in the cheering. And it 
seemed to me they cheered everything that had 
ever had the slightest connection with Harvard. 
First the Juniors and Sophomores and Freshmen, 
then the president, then the favorite professors, and 
next the crew, foot-ball team, and nine, and then 
John the apple-man, and so on, till I was afraid 
their voices would be gone forever. But at last 
they stopped, and then at a given signal a grand 
dash was made at the tree, around which had been 
placed a belt of flowers, seven or eight feet from 
the ground. Time and again a man would be borne 
up on the shoulders of his friends so that he could 
reach handfuls of the flowers, — only to be hurled 
down again to the ground. And it was in this sea 
of arms and legs that I saw Irving Hamilton, perched 
on the shoulders of two tremendous fellows, make 
his way up to the tree, fill his pockets and hat with 
flowers, and then disappear headforemost into the 
crowd. 

"Now, it is usually the custom for a Senior to 
give the flowers that he has captured to this or that 
girl whom he approves of most highly ; and it was 
a pretty sight to see these laughing fellows, in their 
tattered clothes, offering their hard-won trophies to 
their smiling and blushing friends. And as they 



HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 217 

were occupied so pleasantly, I chanced to see Ham- 
ilton, with his hands filled with flowers, looking 
about everywhere for some one. At last his face 
lighted up, and he made his way through the 
crowd, not to a pretty girl, but to his mother, 
whose eyes filled with tears as he threw his roses 
upon her lap. Perhaps he saved some, and gave 
them afterwards to the loveliest maiden there ; 
but be that as it may, his first thought was of his 
mother. 

" It was the year after that, you know, that I 
was appointed consul at Egypt; so for some time 
I lost sight of Hamilton, though I often heard 
about him from your father, who has always known 
him well. It seems Hamilton studied law, and rose 
rapidly in his profession, so that when I returned 
to America, after some thirteen years' stay abroad, 
he was considered a man of wonderful ability. 
Already he had held various positions of trust and 
responsibility, and that autumn he was nominated 
as Eepublican candidate for governor. As time 
went on, the excitement grew intense, and when 
finally the day of the election came, it reached a 
fever heat. Hamilton still lived at the old estate in 
Havistown, and that night he passed at home with 
his family and several dear friends. As evening 
began to come on, your father and I walked down to 
the bulletin boards, and saw the returns thrown up by 
the stereopticon on a convenient whitewashed wall. 



218 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

As time went on, it became more and more evident 
that Hamilton would be elected ; and when at last 
it was clear that he had carried the State by fifty 
thousand majority, a mighty cheer went up from 
the crowd of eager watchers. We were almost all 
Hamilton's friends, and when some one suggested 
that we should go up to his house and wish him 
joy, the proposal was received with acclamations. 
Small boys were sent right and left for rockets and 
Eoman candles, and we started off. "When at last 
we reached the house, Hamilton appeared on the 
piazza, and after shaking hands with as many as 
could crowd up to him, he made a little speech to us. 
I can't remember everything he said, as he spent 
some time in reviewing the campaign and discuss- 
ing its various issues ; but of a sudden his expres- 
sion seemed to change, and his voice trembled as he 
said : ' But, dear townsfolk, brothers and sisters, if 
I deserve anything at your hands, if I have any 
abilities or qualities that seem to you worthy of 
commendation, believe me, they are due to the kind 
efforts and training of my dear father and mother, 
who I feel sure are dear to every one of you.' At 
this he stopped, and of a sudden old Deacon 
Champlin stepped out and cried, ' Boys, let 's give 
three rousing cheers for Irving Hamilton, and three 
more for Elder Hamilton and that dear old lady 
Mrs. Hamilton. And, boys, if they have trained up 
our Havistown lad to be governor, I hope they '11 



HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 219 

try for President next time/ And at this we 
shouted and shouted, and cheered and cheered. 
And Hamilton smiled down upon us, while one 
hand lay upon his father's shoulder and the other 
rested in his aged mother's clasp." 



Second Sunday in November. 

" A foolish son is a grief to his father, and bitterness 
to her that bare him." 

ALONG time ago there lived in one of the 
large cities of Persia a poor man and his 
wife, who had three sons. The eldest was named 
Shockpie, the second Hockpie, and the third Hassan. 
And as time went on this man grew very poor ; and 
when he fonnd it was with difficulty he could main- 
tain his household, he called together his sons, and 
spoke to them as follows : — 

" My sons, I am growing old, and am scarcely able 
to support my family. So now, though it grieves 
me sorely, I must ask you to make up your minds 
henceforth to shift for yourselves. I have, however, 
saved three hundred pieces of gold which I shall 
divide among you." 

The three brothers were much grieved at having 
to leave their home, but nevertheless took their 
money and started out into the world. As for 
Shockpie, he wandered about from place to place 
until he came to a large city on the shore of the 
ocean ; and as he was tired of travelling, he decided 
to settle there. 



222 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Accordingly, with what money he had, he bought 
silks and costly stuffs, which he put in his pack 
and sold from door to door. 

As he was a youth of pleasing presence, and his 
goods also were of the finest quality, he was very 
successful, and soon he began to accumulate large 
sums of money. In fact, his wealth so increased 
that he bought a little shop in one of the crowded 
thoroughfares, where he sat and sold his goods to 
the passers-by. Now, it chanced one day as he sat 
by his door that the Caliph of that region came 
riding by on a magnificent charger adorned by rich 
trappings. And as the Caliph rode along, he 
happened to glance at Shockpie's little store, 
and his eye fell upon a piece of stuff that pleased 
his fancy. He accordingly turned aside and 
said, — 

" What is your name, O merchant ? " 
And Shockpie answered, " Shockpie, my lord." 
And the Caliph said, " Shockpie, I see among 
your goods a piece of stuff that pleases me much, 
and I would have it." 

Now, it was the custom in this city for all the 
merchants to charge a very high price to the Caliph 
when he bought of them, as it was well known that 
he was rich and liked to encourage honest trade. 
But Shockpie knew nothing of this custom, and so 
when the Caliph asked what he should pay, he 
replied, — 



A FOOLISH SON IS A GRIEF TO HIS FATHER. 223 

" If my lord would but pay me another visit it is 
all that I shall ask ; and as for this piece of stuff, it 
is yours and welcome." 

Now, the Caliph was pleased at Shockpie's answer, 
and rode away on his black horse. And the follow- 
ing day the Caliph again came by, and after a long 
conversation with Shockpie he again selected a piece 
of stuff and continued on his way. And, as time 
went by, scarcely a day passed but the Caliph stopped 
to talk with Shockpie, so pleased was he by his 
quaint and intelligent answers and modest de- 
meanor. And throughout the city it was noticed 
that the Caliph always bought at his shop, and con- 
sequently Shockpie's trade grew enormously, and he 
became very rich. 

And after he had lived in this city for two years, 
it chanced that the Grand Vizier died and the Ca- 
liph was left without an adviser. And though many 
wise men and flattering courtiers were suggested 
for the place, he chose none of them, but went, as 
was his daily custom, to Shockpie's store, and said, 
" Shockpie, I have come to pay for that piece of stuff 
that I took from your store two years ago. Shockpie, 
from this day you are my Grand Vizier." 

Accordingly, Shockpie became Grand Vizier, and 
in all the cities round about there was none wiser 
than he. And when his parents from far away 
heard of his good fortune they were well pleased, 
and rejoiced greatly. 



224 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

When Hockpie left his father's door, he was at a 
loss what to do ; but, like his brother, he journeyed 
away from bis native town to foreign lands ; and 
at last he came to a large city which lay at the foot 
of a mountain, and here Hockpie decided to stay. 
He therefore bought, with part of his money, some 
beautiful flowers, and stood in the street corners 
selling to passers-by; and a great many people 
stopped to buy of him, pleased alike by his attrac- 
tive face and his lovely flowers. 

And as the days went on, his trade grew more 
and more prosperous. And it became the fashion 
in the city to buy of the handsome flower-boy, and 
he began to receive orders from all about to supply 
flowers for different occasions. In fact, it was not 
long before he was forced to seek larger accommo- 
dations than were offered by his modest stand on 
the street corner, and consequently he purchased a 
shop in the crowded part of the city, where he sold 
his flowers. 

It chanced one day as he sat at the shop door 
that the Queen of that country came riding by in 
her chariot drawn by four white horses. And as 
she passed Hockpie's shop, she saw a lovely flower 
which pleased her, as it was very rare. 

Accordingly, she stopped and asked Hockpie for 
the flower. Now, in this country, it was the cus- 
tom among the merchants when the Queen came to 
buy of them, to present as a gift whatever she might 



A FOOLISH SON IS A GRIEF TO HIS FATHER. 225 

wish to have ; but Hockpie, after having given 
the flower to the Queen, asked her for two pieces 
of gold in payment. 

And the Queen was greatly surprised. But having 
paid the gold, she asked, " Why, friend, do you 
ask payment from me, while the other merchants 
are glad to give me their goods ? " 

And Hockpie answered : " Most gracious Queen, 
it has always been my custom to give a fifth of my 
daily savings to the poor, and I felt sure that my 
Queen would be the last who would deny to them 
this little help which they receive." 

The Queen smiled at his reply, and drove away. 
But the next day she came again and bought other 
flowers, for which also she paid two pieces of gold ; 
and while she waited in the shop she talked to 
Hockpie, asking him where he got his flowers, and 
how they were raised. And Hockpie answered her 
questions so intelligently and so modestly that she 
was much pleased, and again she smiled upon him 
and drove away. And almost daily she stopped at 
his shop and bought flowers, often consulting him 
about her own gardens. 

And when it was noised about that the Queen 
often bought flowers of Hockpie, though it was 
known that her gardens were the largest in the 
land, every one said, " What rare plants this Hock- 
pie must have, if the Queen buys of him ! Let us go 
ourselves and see what he sells." 

15 



226 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Consequently Hockpie prospered and became 
very rich. About two years after he had come to 
this city it chanced that the Lord High Gardener 
died; and though many noted courtiers and dis- 
tinguished men were suggested for his successor, 
the Queen refused them all, and appointed Hockpie 
instead. 

And when Hockpie's parents heard of his good 
fortune they were well pleased, and rejoiced 
greatly. 

When Hassan left his father's door he was un- 
certain what he should do. So he wandered list- 
lessly about the city, and as chance would have it, 
he met a number of his friends who were worthless 
fellows, in whose company he had spent much of 
his time. And as he joined them, he told his story, 
and asked their advice as to what he should do with 
his gold. A number of foolish schemes were pro- 
posed; but finally he determined to give a great 
banquet, to which all his friends should be asked, 
and where the question of his future should be dis- 
cussed. This he accordingly did ; but amid the 
eating and drinking and merrymaking this question 
was forgotten, and the next day he was as much at 
a loss as ever as to what he should do. 

And as the days went by he continued this life 
of extravagance until finally his money was all 
spent, and he was fain to return home and ask help 
of his father. 



A FOOLISH SON IS A GRIEF TO HIS FATHER. 227 

Now, when his parents heard his story and saw 
what a sorry plight he was in, they felt very angry, 
and were grieved that their son should prove so 
shiftless and foolish. But nevertheless they pitied 
him, and so having given him new clothes and as 
much money as they could spare, they sent him 
away again to seek his fortune. 

This time he journeyed away from his native 
city, and after wandering about for many days 
arrived at the city where his brother Shockpie 
lived. And when Hassan learned that Shockpie 
was the Grand Vizier of the country, he rejoiced 
greatly, and made his way with all speed to the 
palace. Now, it chanced that Shockpie was 
walking through the gardens, and as he looked 
towards the gates he saw his brother approaching, 
and in great joy he ran to him and bade him 
welcome. 

When the Caliph heard of Hassan's arrival, he 
called him to him and gave him an honorable posi- 
tion as captain of his guard. 

But as time went on, the soldiers became dis- 
gusted with Hassan, as he seldom came to drill, 
leaving everything in care of his under lieu- 
tenant, and often he was found asleep at his post. 
But on his brother Shockpie's account the Caliph 
overlooked these misdemeanors and still kept him 
in office. Finally, however, matters came to a 
crisis. 



228 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

It chanced that a neighboring prince was to 
make a visit to the Caliph's palace. And when he 
was but a few days distant, the Caliph sent his 
body guard, with Hassan at their head, to meet 
him, and escort him with all ceremony to the 
city. 

Accordingly, Hassan set forth ; but on the way he 
chanced to come to a city where a great festival 
was going on, and Hassan turned aside and joined 
in the sports and games. And when it was known 
that he was the Caliph's captain of the guard, he 
was made much of, and for several days he remained 
as the guest of these people, attending all manner 
of banquets and entertainment. But while he 
feasted there, the foreign prince passed by, and all 
alone, save his small retinue, came to the Caliph's 
palace. 

And when the Caliph saw that Hassan was not 
with him, he sent messengers about the land to see 
where he was. They soon found him and brought 
him before the Caliph. And the Caliph caused him 
to be beaten with rods and sent away from his 
country. And when his parents heard of this they 
were deeply grieved, and complained bitterly that 
they should have such a son. 

But as for Hassan, he wandered sorrowfully on, 
begging from door to door, until he came to the 
country where Hockpie lived. And when Hassan 
heard that Hockpie was the Lord High Gardener of 



A FOOLISH SON IS A GKIEF TO HIS FATHER. 229 

this land, he rejoiced greatly and hastened to the 
palace. 

Now, Hockpie was in the garden superintending 
the work of numerous dependents; but when he 
saw Hassan he was overjoyed, and welcomed him 
in a most friendly way. And the Queen, hearing 
that Hassan had arrived, gave him a place as kitchen- 
gardener, which was considered a position of some 
importance. 

Here Hassan remained many days, and for a 
time he worked hard, and became quite popular 
in the palace. But little by little he forgot his 
good resolves, and began to grow slack in his work. 
The Queen often saw weeds in his garden, and 
frequently he would forget to water his plants ; but 
she always overlooked his faults on his brother's 
account, and things went on as before. At last, 
however, matters really went too far. 

The Queen had arranged to give a large garden 
party, and on the morning of the day which had 
been fixed for the festivities, she sent for Hassan 
to see that the kitchen-garden presented a proper 
appearance. But the matter slipped his mind, and 
when later in the day the guests began to arrive, 
the Queen saw that a flock of sheep were wander- 
ing about the kitchen-garden, and that Hassan was 
nowhere to be seen. 

She said nothing, but the next day she called the 
unfortunate youth to her, and after reprimanding 



230 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

him severely, dismissed him from her service and 
sent him out of the country. 

And he, poor boy, wandered back to his native 
land, where he finally died, distrusted by all, be- 
loved by none, — "a grief to his father and bitter- 
ness to her who bare him." 



Third Sunday in November. 

"He hath made with me an everlasting covenant, 
ordered in all things, and sure." 

WAITSTILL DENNIS was walking home 
late one September afternoon. Her way- 
had led through deep ancient lanes all that day 
and all the day before. And though she met but 
few as she walked, and no one whom she knew, 
yet she was at no loss for company, for her own 
thoughts were as company to her, and of those she 
had no lack. 

She was going back from her mother's death-bed 
to the house of her master and mistress. Her 
mother had been sick for three months ; she was a 
devout woman, the widow of one of General Crom- 
well's Ironsides. And it was with deep sorrow of 
heart that she had parted with her daughter, first, 
many years since, to send her to service while still 
a little child, and now, again, when it was sickness 
which had brought them together, and death which 
parted them ; for beside her deep natural love of 
her child, she felt a great fear for her child's soul. 
She had hoped much from the Independent minister 
of the village where Master and Mistress Kirby 



232 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

lived ; but now that Charles II. was come again, 
Master Wilson had been sent away, and Dr. Mar- 
lowe was minister in his stead, with a white sur- 
plice, and a book of prayers, and a worship which 
seemed an abomination to the widow, who con- 
tinued an Independent still. Nor did she judge 
her daughter's master and mistress to be fit guides 
for her in the way of salvation. And in this she 
was partly right though as touching Dr. Marlowe, 
somewhat unjust, for in his own manner he loved 
and served both God and man. But she would not 
that Waitstill should go to his catechisings, though 
she did go to the church every Sunday with Master 
and Mistress Kirby ; for they cared little whether 
Master Wilson or Dr. Marlowe prayed and preached. 
For, though honest people in their way, they loved 
much the things of this world. Master Kirby was 
proud of his rich little farm, and Mistress Kirby of 
her silken hood and scarf ; also he was often choleric, 
and given to great oaths, and she somewhat quick 
of temper, with a slap or a pinch sometimes, and 
over-willing to be called of her maid you instead of 
thou, as if she were a great lady, and above the 
plain speech of country folk. 

So poor Goodwife Dennis, while yet she had 
strength, spoke much to Waitstill of the things of 
God, and of the new birth, and how she must be 
converted from her sins. And Waitstill tried hard 
to understand her dear mother ; also to read those 



AN EVERLASTING COVENANT. 233 

parts of Scripture which her mother pointed out. 
But having but Little learning, she could not well 
make out more than a verse or two ; and she was 
so in pain for her mother that she could think of 
little else than tending on her sickness. Now, as 
the sickness was great, and their poverty also, she 
had much to do. 

So when at last the poor woman came near death, 
she was by no means sure that her daughter was 
one of God's elect. And the last word she was 
able to whisper to her daughter, before sinking 
away into her last sleep, was somewhat of a cove- 
nant which Waitstill was to make with the 
Lord ; and Waitstill, with bitter tears, promised to 
do what she could. And the widow's face was 
troubled still, until that last sleep brought it peace 
once more. 

It was of this covenant that her daughter thought 
as she walked home, and she wondered how it was 
to be made. Master Wilson had spoken of a cove- 
nant Abraham had made with God. She had not 
listened much to what he said; now she wished 
that she had. One thing she remembered, — that 
Abraham talked with God as a man talks with his 
friend. This seemed to her a hard thing. Likewise 
Master Wilson had said that the covenant came 
from the Lord, not from man; "and," thought 
Waitstill, " I must then first hear the Lord's voice, 
and how can that be ? " 



234 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

At times, she had other thoughts. She had been 
used to wonder, in looking forward to her mother's 
death, what was to keep her from evil when she no 
longer had that good mother to please. But now, 
as she walked through the still, green lanes, she 
saw that something, stronger even than her love 
for her mother, turned her toward good and away 
from evil ; and that, she knew not why, she never 
could be happy or content if she did not strive to 
live well. By this the poor child meant that she 
would be obedient to her mistress in all points, even 
to curling her hair for her, and remembering to call 
her you, which was hard for a young country maid, 
accustomed to the plain thee and thou; that she 
would be mild and gentle to her master when he 
was angry ; and that she would never go to sleep in 
church any more. That she would never forget her 
prayer, she had resolved before. She knew but one 
(except for a few of Dr. Marlowe's, which her mother 
had not affected) ; but now, going into a thick green 
place by the roadside, she knelt down and repeated 
that one prayer in which all Christians agree. 

After this she felt easier in her mind, and though 
the covenant still seemed a great way off, she felt 
as if she might become, as she said to herself, a 
better maid. And it was with such thoughts still 
in her heart that just after sunset, somewhat weary, 
she came in sight of the brick gables of Master 
Kirby's house. 



AN EVERLASTING COVENANT. 235 

Her mistress was in the kitchen clearing away 
supper. She could see her through the window as 
she came through the garden. She had thought of 
some words in which to pay her duty, as it was 
called; but as soon as Mistress Kirby saw her, 
and came forward to meet her, looking very 
kind, her maid could do nothing but begin to cry, 
and say, "Oh, Mistress, Mistress, my mother is 
dead!" 

Waitstill could hardly believe that this was 
Mistress Kirby, for instead of rating her for her 
tears, which she had been used to think flowed a 
little too freely, she kissed and comforted her as 
no one had ever done but the mother who was 
dead ; and finally, seating her at the table, she 
brought her bread and milk with her own hands, 
and forced her to eat something. She had not been 
one who loved sad tales, but she made Waitstill tell 
her much of her mother's illness. 

" They say thy mother was a godly woman," she 
said at last. 

" Oh yes, Mistress," said Waitstill ; " I think she 
was more godly than Master Wilson, even, — though 
I should not say so of a minister, I know. But she 
was so much in prayer, and, oh, Mistress, she was so 
good ! " 

" Yes, belike she was as good as Thomas Wilson, 
or better," said Mistress Kirby. " I wish I had 
known thy mother." 



236 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

"And what troubles me so is this," Waitstill 
went on in a trembling voice ; " she was so wishful 
that — that I should make a covenant with the 
Lord, as she had done. I had not meant to tell 
thee — to tell you this, Mistress, but I cannot tell 
how to seek that covenant. I did not mean to 
trouble thee with it — to trouble you, I mean — w 
And here Waitstill grew confused, and stopped. 

"Plain speech is best," said Mistress Kirby. 
" Call me thee, as thou didst thy mother. It is 
enough for me." But of the covenant she said 
nothing at that time, but went on with her work, 
and would let her maid do nothing that night, but 
would have her go to bed soon. 

So Waitstill went up to bed in her little room 
she had had ever since she was a young child ; and 
the sight of it made her shed some tears, for when 
she had left it her mother had been still alive. 
She knelt down to say her prayer beside the bed, 
and, as before, the prayer made her soul easier ; 
and when she rose up from her knees, she saw her 
mistress looking at her. 

" Child," she said, blushing very much, " I must 
pray with thee. And though I pray not well, yet 
the Lord will understand us." 

So they knelt down again, side by side. After a 
long time Mistress Kirby said, " Lord, make thy ever- 
lasting covenant with this maid." She said no more, 
and after a time she kissed Waitstill and left her. 



AN EVERLASTING COVENANT. 237 

Waitstill, before she slept, though she thought 
much of the covenant, thought also of Mistress 
Kirby, and wondered how she had been thus 
changed, and grown so loving, not only to her, but 
also, as it seemed, to the Lord. But she could not 
wake long, and soon was asleep. 

Next morning she woke early, and hurried to do 
her old morning tasks. As she was busy in the 
poultry-yard, which was close to the road, she was 
accosted by a rough voice outside, and saw Master 
Twisden, the bailiff, riding on his gray horse. He 
seemed in a very ill humor, and sent her for her 
master, whom she had not yet met. 

Master Kirby was in the kitchen, reading some- 
thing to his wife as she cooked the breakfast. He 
greeted his maid kindly as she came into the room ; 
but on hearing her errand he walked once or twice 
up and down the room without a word. First he 
turned red, then pale ; than he went toward the 
door. 

" Thou wilt not see him, John ! " cried his wife. 
" Let me take thy message ; I fear him not ! " 

" I know that well," said John Kirby, with a sort 
of smile ; " but I fear thee, Alice, and myself too." 

Mistress Kirby had not another word. She went 
to the parlor window, which looked out on the road, 
and Waitstill followed her. Master Twisden was 
impatient by this time, and when Master Kirby 
came out he received him with most dreadful 



238 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

oaths. John Kirby was not a patient man, and 
Waits till supposed he would return the bailiff's 
swearing with at least some sharp words, but 
nothing did he say, but looked upon him with a 
quiet countenance; only — and at this Waitstill 
felt great alarm — he kept on his hat, she sup- 
posed through inadvertence, and neither bowed 
nor scraped with his leg, as was the custom 
when men met the bailiff. She could not well 
understand what the bailiff was saying, he was so 
furious in his speech ; but when he stopped his 
oaths, John Kirby spoke little and slowly. She 
heard him say, "Thou knowest that I cannot 
pay tithe for the maintenance of thy priest; all 
else I pay, and am a good tenant." 

"Good tenant! bad subject!" said the bailiff, 
swearing again. " Thou wilt not take the oath of 
allegiance they bade thee at last quarter-sessions; 
but all was no avail, thou didst prate of thy con- 
science. Had I been on the bench, thou shouldst 
be in jail now." 

"Friend, it was my conscience, indeed," said 
Kirby. By this time four or five of the bailiff's 
men, who had been riding with him, had straggled 
down the hill after him, with an empty hay-cart ; 
every one listened with attention to what was 
going on. 

" Mistress ! " cried Waitstill, " make him take off 
his hat ! the bailiff will kill him ! " 



AN EVERLASTING COVENANT. 239 

"Not for the world;" said Alice Kirby. "Let 
him bear his testimony, and fail not." At this John 
Kirby looked round at his wife. What he saw in 
her face seemed to his mind ; he turned again to- 
ward the bailiff, and having said what he had to 
say, was silent. 

" Unmannerly dog ! " cried the bailiff. " Here, 
Ambrose, Julian, off with his hat ! " 

" Thou hast it for what it is worth," said John, 
undauntedly. " I mean no offence, thou knowest ; 
hats or no hats, 't is little to me, but it is in prayer 
I take off mine." 

At this the bailiff flew into a still greater rage, 
and fell to belaboring Kirby over the head. To 
Waitstill's very great surprise, while John defended 
his head as well as he could, he made no resistance 
to the bailiff; and though he was a fine quarter- 
staff player, and had had, as was his custom, a good 
stick in his hand at the beginning of their talk, it 
was now nowhere to be seen. 

Waits till could not stand still and see this. 
She was for running into the garden to help her 
master, she knew not how ; but before she had left 
the window the bailiff's men themselves interfered. 
" We were to take the tithe, and take it we will," 
they said. " Naught was told us of beating Master 
Kirby. Shame on you, bailiff, when you know 
he 's a Quaker and will not fight." And they went 
off to the barn, while Kirby, looking dazed, came 



240 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

into the house. His wife ran up to him, threw 
her arms about his neck, and kissed him again 
and again. He disengaged himself, sat down by 
the table, leaned his head on his arms, and said 
nothing. 

" Thou art a Christian indeed, my own dear man, 
to resist not evil ! " cried Mistress Kirby. " I did 
not think thou couldst keep thy hands off the 
bailiff, — the wicked, swearing wretch ! " 

" Beware lest thou show his spirit," said her hus- 
band. " I think," he added, after a minute, — "I 
think it was the Lord ; naught else could have kept 
me off him." 

Waitstill looked out of the window. " Master, 
they are carrying off half the hay ! " said she. 

" What must be, must," said John. As the 
breakfast was now ready, he began to help his 
wife to food, and after a moment's silence they 
began to eat. Mistress Kirby's eyes occasionally 
wandered to the baliff's hay-cart, but her husband 
did not give it one glance. " Our own troubles 
must not close up the way for this child," said 
he. " Maid, wilt thou choose to meet with our 
friends at Harford to-day? My wife says thou 
art for peace with God, and findest it not." 

"Wait," said his wife. " Child, this is no light 
thing, to be one of our friends. I would not risk 
thy freedom and thy life, unless thou wert clear in 
thine own mind. Art thou yet sixteen years old ? 



AN EVERLASTING COVENANT. 241 

For if thou be but fifteen, the danger to thee is 
little; they seek not to put children in prison." 

" I am sixteen years and two months," said Wait- 
still. " And if there be danger, Mistress, I care not ; 
I will go with thee and Master to the world's end." 
Tor though she now saw well enough that her mas- 
ter and mistress had joined themselves to the people 
called Quakers, and though she had heard such ill 
spoken of, while knowing little of them, — though 
also she knew something of the persecutions they 
suffered, as cruel mockings, trials, imprisonments, 
and of late even transportation beyond seas, — 
yet somewhat in her heart drew her close to her 
mistress, and her master also. And she said in her 
own mind that their people should be her people ; 
though as yet she dared not say also that their 
God should be her God. 

But at this time she said little of her mind, but 
busied herself to help her mistress, and would have 
curled her hair for her, and helped her on with her 
silk gown and hood, and her lace pinners, and the 
cherry breast-knots she loved to wear ; but she 
would have none of all these. This comforted 
Waitstill for her own shabby gown, and in time 
they all got into Master Kirby's cart. The wo- 
men sat upon stools, and Master Kirby drove ; as 
they went, very little was said, and that "Waitstill 
scarcely understood. Something was said of one 
George Fox ; and John Kirby, solemnly turning 
16 



242 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

round, bade her heed well what that man should 
say. But their speech moved her little, for all her 
thoughts were taken up with what they had been 
running on the day before. What had happened 
that morning made her think of it the more. 
"What is it," she said, within her heart, "that 
telleth me when I do well, that reproveth me when 
I do evil ? I know I did well in coming here to the 
meeting ; what was it that told me so ? What was 
it made Master Kirby brave both against the bailiff 
and against his own spirit ? He said it was the 
Lord ; but he has found the Lord and I have not ; 
so what I feel is other. What is it ? For ever- 
more it grows stronger and stronger." And these 
thoughts she could not open to her good master and 
mistress. 

Now at Harford, outside the town, was a great 
orchard, and in the orchard many plain people were 
sitting (though a few young men also with great 
periwigs, and even swords) ; and under a great 
apple-tree were two or three as plain as the rest, 
but of grave countenances; and these, Mistress 
Kirby said, were the preachers. One of these, tall 
of stature, and pale as if he had been sick (as indeed 
he had while the Lord's prisoner at Scarborough), 
was, she said, that George Fox of whom they had 
spoken. Waitstill could not take her eyes from 
this man, she knew not why, as he sat under the 
apple-tree, while all his friends sat silent round 



AN EVERLASTING COVENANT. 243 

about. But though it seemed a silent space of 
time to most there, to Waitstill it did not ; for her 
heart spoke loud within her, asking that same 
question which had so moved her when they were 
coming to the meeting. And though to many that 
silent time seemed long also, to her it seemed but a 
few minutes before this same George Fox rose up 
and spoke ; and all his friends were very attentive 
to hear him. 

" Who art thou," he began, '*' who say est within 
thyself, What is this which telleth me when I do 
well, and reproveth me when I do evil ? " 

Now, when Waitstill heard this, she knew that 
the good God had sent this man to answer that 
question of her heart. And when he went on to 
tell of the true Light which lightens every man 
who comes into the world, and how it is that which 
turns us towards good at first, and in the end, if 
we resist it not, can bring us into God's peace, 
Waitstill began to feel her question being answered, 
and that dark covenant growing plain. 

Though tears rolled down her cheeks as she list- 
ened, she felt them not ; she neither saw nor felt 
aught but the preacher, and the Lord whom he 
preached. She could never remember his words. 
When she was asked of them afterwards, and when 
Alice Kirby kindly pressed her to go and speak, 
after the meeting, to the man who had moved her 
so much, she would not go ; " for," said she, " the 



244 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Lord hath now told me what He would, and I will 
not trouble that good man further." After some 
days, however, her mistress seeing her a changed 
maid, Waitstill, after much persuasion, told her 
what had passed in her heart, and how George Fox 
had answered her question ; and the story of that 
question and answer is even now told among the 
people called Quakers, and I myself heard it in one 
of their meetings. 

And though, as the preacher said, the woman to 
whom this happened, never, as far as we know, be- 
came a preacher, or eminent among the Friends, 
and was called instead to lead a quiet and retired 
life, yet we may believe that the Lord she found 
that day was with her all her life long, and that she 
was " faithful to Him in what she knew both in life 
and death." 



Fourth Sunday in November. 

" Wisdom is better than rubies" 

SCENE, a school-room. The teacher is sitting 
on the platform, but quite a distance from 
her desk, with her feet on the register. Jack and 
Oscar, the only two scholars, are just below on a 
settee. The clock strikes eleven. 

The Teacher. Now, boys, it 's recess for half an 
hour. If it is n't snowing too hard, you may go out. 
If you don't care for that, you may run round in 
here as much as you like. There are so few of you, 
you can't make much noise ; but try not to break 
anything. (She goes into her own room. The boys 
walk to a window.) 

Jack Let's go out and see how deep the 
snow is. 

Oscar. I 'm afraid it 's pretty deep. 

Jack. If I hadn't strapped up the tops of my 
rubber boots, they'd have been full coming to 
school. Did you get yours full ? Oh, — I forgot, 
you drove. 

Oscar. Yes, and mamma wouldn't let them take 
me in the cutter. I hate a closed sleigh. 



246 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Jack. A closed sleigh is all right when you 're 
on behind, because the driver can't see you. 

Oscar. But mamma won't let me get on behind. 
She always makes me go inside. 

Jack. That 's hard luck. (A pause) I guess I '11 
go out before I eat my lunch, anyway. Will you 
come ? 

Oscar. Well, you see I haven't any rubber 
boots. 

Jack. Oh, well, I don't know that that makes 
much difference. Those laced boots of yours are 
thick, and the snow 's good and dry. Your stock- 
ings look thin, though. 

Oscar. Yes, I 'm afraid they 're silk. 

Jack. My ! Are n't your legs cold ? 

Oscar. Sometimes they are. Your stockings 
look pretty thick. 

Jack. Oh, yes ; mamma knits them herself. 
{They go over to where their overcoats are hanging.) 
I suppose snow is n't good for silk stockings. 

Oscar. I don't know ; mamma never lets me try. 

Jack. Well, I've noticed you didn't come out 
to play in the snow like the other boys, and I sup- 
posed you were stuck up. When I found you were 
the only boy who came here to-day besides me, 
I thought, " Well, he is some good." But then I 
found you drove. 

Oscar. Now, Jack, I 'in not stuck up ; it 's just 
that mamma won't let me do things. 



WISDOM IS BETTER THAN RUBIES. 247 

Jack. Afraid you '11 spoil your clothes ? 

Oscar. Yes ; and I hate velvet and silk and 
things. 

Jack. I '11 tell you ; let 's spoil those things you 
have on, and perhaps she 11 get you something de- 
cent to wear. 

Oscar. Well, — but then, she likes me so much, 
and I don't want to make her cry. 

Jack. Do you think she 'd cry ? I don't think I 'd 
like to have my mamma cry. I know I should n't. 

Oscar. Did she ever ? 

Jack. Oh, well, if she did I would n't tell you, — 
vould n't tell any one, I mean. {A pause) Look 
here, I didn't mean to sit on you. Don't mind 
what I said. I '11 tell you what, — I like you lots 
better now that I know how you feel, and are n't 
stuck up, you know. I'll lend you my rubber 
boots, and strap them tight round your legs ; see 
how long they are ! They '11 cover up all those silk 
stockings and most of the velvet breeches. 

Oscar. But what '11 you do ? 

Jack. Oh, my things are awfully thick ; we can 
brush off the snow, and if they get wet, the teacher '11 
let me stand on the register and study. 

Oscar. That 's ever so good of you ; you don't 
really mind ? 

Jack. Not a bit. There, — try this one on. I 
guess it '11 fit all right, though you are a little taller 
than I am. How is it — tight ? 



248 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Oscar. A little. (Stamps.) No, it 's all right, 
now ; that 's fine ! 

Jack Now, when your overcoat 's on you '11 cover 
up everything that 11 spoil. 

Oscar. Well, if I don't, I'll put on something 
else this afternoon. But look here ! 

Jack What is it ? 

Oscar. There is n't much good in my wearing a 
long coat and long boots too. You let me have 
your reefer and I '11 lend you my ulster. 

Jack I don't believe I want those long tails 
round my heels. 

Oscar. Oh, just try it ; you '11. find the hood boss 
for your ears. 

Jack All right. (They put on each other's coats.) 
I should n't wonder if you could run faster than I 
now. 

Oscar. Let 's try, round the school-house. 

Jack There 's a jolly big drift next the door. 

Oscar. All right; if we stick in it we'll pull 
each other out. 

Jack Why, Oscar, you've talked more sense 
since you put on my things than I 've ever heard 
you talk before. 

Oscar. You never gave me any chance when I 
had on my own. (They go out.) 

The Teacher comes out from behind. Oscar ! Why, 
he 's gone too. I never thought he would venture 
out. I hope Mrs. Kich won't be displeased; she 



WISDOM IS BETTER THAN RUBIES. 249 

does dress him so carefully. (She goes to the front 
window.) There they are, — how well they are 
getting on together! Getting in, I should say. 
There 's Jack down ! No, it 's Oscar. Why, really 
I can't tell which is which. (She walks across to the 
side window.) I hope they won't be really buried. 
That one is ! Oh ! (She raps on the window.) But 
of course they can't hear that ! Oh, well, he 's all 
right now. Here they are, coming back. I al- 
most wish I were a boy too. (Enter the boys, 
covered with snow from head to foot.) Now stand 
here on the mat till I brush the snow off. I hope 
you have n't spoiled that velvet suit, Oscar. Why, 
you 're not Oscar. 

Jack No, ma'am, we changed coats and things. 

The Teacher. You're all right, now; run and 
stand over the register. 

Jack But let me help Oscar pull his boots off. 
They're a little tight. 

The Teacher. Very well, — brush him off well, 
and then we '11 dry you both. (Jack helps to pidl 
off the toots. The boys take their lunch-boxes and 
go up to the platform.) Come right up and warm 
yourselves. (She feels of their clothes.) You 're not 
so very wet, after all. The snow must have been 
light and dry. I '11 be back when recess is over. 
(She goes into her own room) 

Jack Wasn't that fun! What sort of lunch 
have you ? 



250 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Oscar. I have a cheese-cake, and an dclair, and 
an orange. 

Jack. That 's not the kind of stuff to train on. 
Mine is bread and beef. 

Oscar. Are you training ? 

Jack. Not regularly ; but I want to be in con- 
dition so as to begin to train for the quarter-mile 
run in the school sports. 

Oscar. Would it keep you from getting into 
— into condition if you should eat half my 
Eclair ? 

Jack. Oh, I guess not. Suppose you try the 
beef; I've got plenty of it. 

Oscar. Thank you ; I 'm lots hungrier than I 
generally am for lunch. How do you know about 
training, and runs, and that sort of thing ? 

Jack. Why, you know my big brother; he's 
champion of the freshman class at college at two 
hundred and twenty yards. But he says I would 
be better at longer distances, so I am going to begin 
at the quarter. How does the beef go ? 

Oscar. First-rate. Here, won't you cut the 
orange ? I want only half. 

Jack. Thank you. Is n't it a big one ? Fruit is 
good for training, you know. 

Oscar. I 'm glad of that. {A pause) Jack, won't 
you come home to dinner with me ? 

Jack. Well, I don't know ; I should have to ask 
leave. 



WISDOM IS BETTER THAN RUBIES. 251 

Oscar. Your house is on the way, and I '11 wait 
while you ask. 

Jack. All right. 

Oscar. Mamma always has her luncheon at our 
dinner, and I think if you talked to her, — not too 
loud, you know, for she 's very delicate, — but if you 
told her about running, and coasting, and skating, 
she would let me do them too. 

Jack. Do you think she 'd cut your hair short ? 

Oscar. I hope so. She says I 'm pretty, and lets 
me have any toys I ask for ; but I don't care a bit 
for that if I can't do things and know things like 
you other boys. 



First Sunday in December. 

" The Lord is in his holy temple ; let all the earth 
keep silence before him. 1 '' 

THE first time I ever saw any of those believers, 
of whom God has made me one, whom the 
heathen call Christians, — but we call ourselves the 
followers of the Way, — the first time, I say, that I 
ever saw any of the brethren was when I was a lit- 
tle boy, and was taken by my mother to the meet- 
ing by the river-side in our town. A poor little 
meeting it was. We were not many Hebrews in the 
town, and though there were a few old men among 
us, and a few young boys like me, most of the 
worshippers were always women. They used to 
make me or one of the other boys read the Law 
to them, if it happened that none of the old men 
could come ; for several of us had learned to read 
Hebrew from Eabbi Ezra, who was now so infirm 
that he could not venture out. Some of the women 
could read Greek, and one of them knew the Hebrew 
character ; but she would never read in the meeting, 
nor would any of the others ; and for this reason, as 
well as my own good, my mother was very urgent 
that I should go with her there every Sabbath. I 



254 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

was ready enough to go, for I liked to read the Scrip- 
ture and hear it read, and it was my only chance for 
that in the whole week after Eabbi Ezra was too 
old to teach me at his house. He owned the only 
copy of the Scripture in the town. Some of the 
boys did not like to go to meeting, but I think 
it was because the Greek fellows used to laugh at 
us and call us lazy Jews, and occasionally throw 
stones ; but I must confess that when they did this, 
my friend Simeon and I were not at all ill pleased, 
and used to run at them and fight them if we were 
not too ill-matched. Many a blow did we give and 
take in those days, and we would come running and 
breathless into the meeting, and hurry on the white 
talita so as to read aloud the Law, feeling like David 
returning from the slaughter of the Philistines. So 
little did we know of the true will of God, who 
would have all men brethren, both Jew and Gentile, 
and who teaches us to love our enemies, and turn 
our other cheek to him that smites us. 

Well, as I was saying, it was at one of these 
meetings, when none of the men were there, only a 
number of the women and Simeon and I, sitting all of 
us under the trees by the river outside the gate, that 
we saw a couple of men coming, whom we judged 
by their dress to be Asian Jews ; I had never seen 
them before, but Simeon said they had come to town 
several days since, and that he had seen the shorter 
one at work at the tent-maker's. It was this shorter 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 255 

one who began to speak when they had sat down 
among us. I wish I could say that I profited by 
what he said ; many a time since then have I longed 
to hear that voice again. But like a child as I was, 
my head was full of my own thoughts, which 
seemed to me far more important than anything 
the strangers could say. Ever since I had been 
able to read the Scripture for myself I had had 
a great longing to learn about the Temple of the 
Lord at Jerusalem ; I made Eabbi Ezra tell me 
all the traditions he knew about the Temple of 
Solomon; and though I knew that Temple was 
standing no longer, yet I had often been told of 
the splendid one which Herod the Great had built 
in its place. Now, though I was a careless boy 
enough, with plenty of the faults of a child, I did 
wish to be a good Jew, as my father had been before 
me, — a true servant of God ; and as I had always 
been taught that Jerusalem, and especially Mount 
Zion and the great Temple upon it, were the chosen 
abiding-place of God, I tried to learn all I could 
about the Temple, in the hope that one day I might 
go up there as my forefathers had done, and praise 
God in his own house according to what I thought 
His will. So strong was this wish and plan in me, 
that when I had time to myself it was always upon 
the Temple my mind was running, and it seemed to 
me a far nobler thing to think of than any other could 
be ; therefore, when the stranger began to speak, 



256 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

though I was taken by his voice and manner, which 
had a great charm about them, yet when I found 
he had nothing to say about that beloved Temple 
my thoughts flew off to it as usual, and I lost words 
which to some of the hearers were the beginning of 
a new life. If I had not been the dreamy boy I 
was, I should have been as much moved as my 
friend Simeon, who before the stranger had finished 
seized my hand and made me listen. I saw Simeon 
had been crying ; and as he was a more light- 
hearted boy than I, this surprised me. The stranger 
was saying " the God that made the world and all 
things therein, dwelleth not in temples made with 
hands ; he is not far from any one of us." The 
listeners were sitting with their eyes fastened 
upon him, and as for Simeon he hardly breathed ; 
but to me the stranger's words seemed those of a 
madman, or worse, — of a bad Jew ; and so I 
said to Simeon as the meeting broke up. He was 
angry, and I thought would have served me as we 
did the Greeks : he was also vexed because I would 
not go home with him and hear more from the 
stranger, whom his mother had persuaded to stay 
at her house. For his mother was a rich woman 
among us, and employed several helpers, in her 
business, who were of our people ; among others, 
my mother did much spinning for her, being a fine 
work-woman, and often in need of money since my 
father died. 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 257 

It was through this work of hers that she saw 
the stranger again at her employer's house ; she was 
much moved by what he said, and told me that I 
was mistaken in supposing him to be a bad Jew ; 
that he was a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee, and 
knew the Law much better than Eabbi Ezra. But, 
she said, besides the Law he had much else to teach, 
and that was something which was more beautiful 
than I could imagine. I would have been glad to 
go and hear him after all this, but I was ashamed, 
because of what I had said to Simeon ; besides, the 
master for whom I worked kept me very busy that 
week. However, I resolved that the next Sabbath 
I would pay good attention to what the stranger 
should say at the meeting, and perhaps afterward, 
I thought, I could find out if he had been at Jeru- 
salem, and get him to tell me about the Temple. 
But as I was coming back from my master's vine- 
yard on Friday evening, wondering if I were too 
late to get outside the gate to the river-side for 
Friday prayers, I found such a crowd and tumult 
in the market-place that I could not get across it, 
as my custom was in going home. Indeed, after 
the first I did not try to cross it, for I soon saw 
that my Jewish dress and face were going to get 
me into trouble. For everybody — not merely the 
street boys, as on the Sabbaths — was shouting 
" Down with the Jews ! " " Away with the Jews ! " 
" Long live Caesar ! " " Down with traitors ! " and 

17 



258 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

I saw that it was one of the riots against our people 
which there were always plenty of ill-natured men 
to raise. I saw that the prsetors were there, so that 
no great harm was likely to be permitted to us in 
general ; two prisoners, covered with dust and their 
clothes nearly torn off, were being hauled and 
shoved before the judgment-seat. But I waited 
to see no more, and made the best of my way 
home, with only an occasional push and buffet 
from any particularly ardent Greek I happened 
to meet. 

My mother was anxiously waiting for me at the 
house door, and as soon as she once had me inside, 
she bolted and barred us safely in. I encouraged 
her as much as I could by telling her I thought 
the riot was directed more against those two pris- 
oners than against our people in general, and this 
really was the case ; for when in a few moments 
we heard the heavy, measured tread of the lictors 
going past our house to the prison, though they 
were followed by a howling, screaming crowd of 
Greeks, only a few stones were thrown against 
our house, and nobody made any attempt to get 
in. Evidently the two men had been put in 
prison, and the crowd was satisfied with that. 

I wanted to look out of the window to see who 
the prisoners were ; but my mother would not let 
me, she was so much afraid of the crowd. In fact, 
she would not unbar even after they had dis- 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 259 

persed ; and when half an hour after, somebody 
came knocking at the back door, she was very 
unwilling even to have me shout to know who 
was there. 

We were both very much surprised to hear 
Simeon's voice in reply. Of course we let him 
in at once. He was carrying a great basket, and 
looked as if he had been fighting his way through 
the crowd, for his clothes were torn and his face 
was covered with bruises. 

" It 's no use my trying to get in there ! " he 
cried, as soon as he had breath ; " they know who I 
am, and that I 'm one of his scholars. Isaac, you 
know the jailer's boy so well, I should think you 
might take the basket in ! " 

Simeon was too tired and too breathless to be very 
explicit, but I saw he was trying to get the basket 
to somebody in the prison. My mother began to 
ask who was there. 

" Why, did you not know who it was ? " cried 
Simeon. ■ ' I was there with him when it happened ; 
we were all going to Friday prayers together, — you 
know they both were staying at our house, — and 
we met that girl of Demetrius's that has a devil, and 
tells fortunes. She was right this time, for once ; 
for she ran along after us saying these were God's 
servants ; she has done that for several days now. 
I thought he would like it, but he did not ;. he 
turned round and spoke to her quietly, said some- 



260 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

thing about Jesus, and the girl turned all different 
in a minute. She looked as if she had just waked 
up and did n't know where she was ; she stared 
about, and then said to her master, f I cannot do 
it any more. I cannot go to the governor's with 
you ; it was all a lie, what I was to say.' Then of 
course the people laughed who were standing 
about, and Demetrius and his sons were angrier 
than I ever saw anybody. They caught hold of 
Paulus and Silas that moment, and began shout- 
ing the old story about Eomans and Jews, and 
in five minutes we were all in the market-place, 
doing our best not to get trampled to death in the 
crowd." 

" So it was Paulus and Silas that they put in 
prison," said my mother, beginning to cry ; " and I 
never looked out at them or said a kind word as 
they went by." 

" If you had, they could not have heard you, the 
Greeks were howling so," said Simeon; "besides, 
they were half dead, both of them, with a beating 
they had had from the praetors, and their clothes 
torn off their backs. I could not look on when they 
were beating them, but I would not go home; it 
seemed like running away." 

"So your mother sent them something in the 
prison," said my mother. She did not seem fright- 
ened at all now. " I should like to go in and look 
after them myself." 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 261 

" It is no use ; my "mother tried it," said Simeon. 
" And they will not let me in either ; but I thought 
Isaac might get there ; the jailer really likes him." 

This was true ; for when the jailer's boy, who had 
been a friend of mine, was sick, I had been used to 
go and tell him stories, Greek though he was, out 
of our Scripture. I was willing enough to go, for I 
wanted to see Paulus again, though I now had very 
little hope of hearing about the Temple. It was 
agreed that I should not go till it was dark and the 
streets were quiet ; and then I started out with 
Simeon's basket. 

The jailer was kind enough to me, but he was 
very doubtful about letting me go in. He told me 
the men were enchanters, he was certain, and traitors 
as well, and that they would use their magic on me 
if he let me stay with them. Also he shook his 
head over the good things in Simeon's basket. " Too 
good," he said, " for wicked magicians who preach 
strange gods." He would not let me take in the 
balsam and linen Simeon's mother had sent for their 
wounds. At last, however, he gave me one of the 
loaves and a bottle of milk, and told me that was 
quite enough, — that he would find out a better 
use for the rest. As it afterwards proved, he meant 
to sacrifice the rest to his gods, for my benefit ; but 
I knew nothing of this, and though I grieved at the 
breaking open of Simeon's basket, I was glad to get 
in on any terms. 



262 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

He had the men in the inner prison, he told me, 
for the safer keeping. It was a dreadful place, half 
under ground, frightful enough to most children ; 
but as we came near it, we heard something which 
pleased me so well that I had no thought of fear. 
The men inside were singing one of the Psalms in 
the Hebrew tongue, as I had never heard them sung 
before; rather it was like the descriptions Eabbi 
Ezra used to give of what his master had told him 
about the Temple service. They were singing, at 
first, the Psalm beginning, "Why do the heathen 
rage ? " I would not let the jailer open the door 
till they had finished it, I was so delighted with 
the music. As for the jailer, he said it was all 
wicked enchantment, and he had a mind to stop 
them, that the other prisoners might not hear such 
things ; but I so entreated him to let them go on, 
that he said nothing to them about it, merely opened 
the door, pushed me in, and locked it again. 

It was perfectly dark in there, and fearfully cold 
and damp, and the air poisonous. I could not think 
of anything but the music, however, and with very 
little politeness I immediately said, "Oh, do go on 
singing, I love the Psalms so ! " 

The prisoners laughed, which was a surprise to 
me in that dreadful place, and he of the two with 
the sweeter voice, whom I knew was Paulus, told 
me it was a strange surprise to find a little Jew in 
the jailer's place, and that they would gladly sing 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 263 

me the Psalms if I would come and sit with them 
on their bench. " For we cannot move to greet 
our visitor," said he ; " our feet are fast in the 
stocks." 

" Then what makes you sing Psalms ? " said I. 
" I should not think you would want to." 

" My dear child," said the other prisoner, " why 
not ? The Lord is with us to hear them. This 
is His house as much as the great Temple at 
Jerusalem." 

" This dreadful place ! " said I. " Why, it is not 
even a meeting-place, like ours by the river ! " For 
the strangers were so gentle and kind to me that 
I fear I was pert and daring in my speech to 
them. 

" It is enough of a meeting-place for us," said the 
stranger who had last spoken. " Our Lord Jesus 
said that where two or three were gathered together 
in His name, He would be in the midst of them." 

I did not understand what he said, and Paulus 
knew this, for he knew men's hearts well. He said 
nothing more then, but began to sing some words 
from the Prophets, beginning, " The Lord is in His 
holy temple : let all the earth keep silence before 
Him." I never hear those words now without think- 
ing of him. He did not sing the whole of that 
prayer, only some verses here and there ; and near 
the end his voice grew weak, and his companion 
begged him to stop and take a little rest, for faint 



264 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

enough they both were. At this, I remembered 
why I had come, and handed to them, in the dark- 
ness, the loaf and bottle, telling them who had sent 
them. They thanked me most kindly, and pressed 
me to eat and drink with them ; but I would not. 
Paulus broke the bread then, and for the first time 
I heard that prayer which I was to learn so well 
afterwards. " We thank thee, our Father," he said, 
" for the life Thou hast made known to us through 
Jesus Thy servant ; to Thee be the glory forever. 
As this broken bread was scattered over the hills, 
and having been gathered together, became one, 
so let Thy church be gathered together from the 
ends of the earth into Thy kingdom." Then they 
ate and drank ; but Paulus had only taken a little 
bread and a draught or two of milk, when on a 
question or two of mine about the Temple, he began 
telling me the most delightful stories of the days 
when he had studied there as a boy not much older 
than I. His friend begged him to stop and take a 
little rest ; but he felt my interest, I suppose, and 
went on telling of the glories of the Temple, and of 
the wise men who met there, and of his own 
master, the great Eabbi Gamaliel, of whom I had 
heard. I listened silent and breathless, catching 
tight hold of the stranger's arm. And well might I 
listen ; for great in his speech as Paulus was, and 
often as I have heard him move hundreds of people 
as no other man could, his word was never stronger 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 265 

than that night to one little child in the dark by 
his side. It seemed to me I could see it all, — the 
splendid Temple, the wise doctors, the young 
students keen to study the Law day and night, 
and plunging deeper and deeper into that 
knowledge. 

" And yet," said Paulus at last, " do you know, I 
am happier here in bonds, where I cannot stir, and 
where I may soon die, than I used to be in those 
days." 

I saw he was speaking the truth, but I could not 
understand it. 

" I have learned something I did not know be- 
fore," he went on. " Now I know how to be abased, 
and how to abound ; I have learned the secret both 
to be filled and to be hungry, both to abound and 
to be in want. I can do all things through Him 
who strengthens me ; and all those things I counted 
as gain then, I count as loss now, if I may but gain 
Christ, and the fellowship of his sufferings, and the 
power of his resurrection." 

I was moved by this. " But Christ is not come," 
I said. 

" Christ is come," he answered ; " Christ is come, 
and I know him, and have seen him." 

I believed all he said — I had to believe it. But 
the thought that the desire of the nations, the great 
Messiah, had come at last, made my heart beat so 
that I could not speak ; I could only clasp the 



266 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

stranger's arm tighter. He went on, simply and 
quietly, to tell me how that Messiah had come, 
not in the splendid Temple among kings and 
priests, but as a helpless child among people as 
poor as I, — how he took upon himself the form 
of a servant, and was obedient unto death, even to 
the death of the cross. 

A long time must have passed as that story went 
on, but to me it seemed only a few moments. 
When the jailer came at last, saying that he had 
been sent for by the praetors, or he would not have 
left me so long, and evidently relieved at finding 
me alive and well, I begged and prayed him to let 
me stay all night with my friends ; but Paulus 
told me that if I wished to be a follower of Christ 
I must be obedient to my mother, and not leave her 
alone ; and I had to obey him, though I thought it 
would break my heart to do it. They both blessed 
me and promised I might come to them whenever 
the jailer allowed it. And then the door shut once 
more, and the great bolt was drawn, and we were 
outside ; and once more we heard the two voices, 
sweet and faint, rising in a Psalm. 

So I went back to my mother ; and so when the 
great earthquake came, that set the prisoners free, I 
was not with them. After that they were released, 
so that I never went to them again in the inner 
prison. But though I saw them more than once 
after that, and learned of the way of life from them 



THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE. 267 

both, and though for many a year since then I have 
tried to walk in that way, yet have I never forgotten 
that inner prison ; for I can say truly of it, " Surely 
the Lord was in that place, and I knew it not." For 
to me it was indeed more than any temple the 
house of God and the gate of heaven. 



Second Sunday in December. 

" She came from the uttermost parts of the earth to 
hear the wisdom of Solomon ; and behold, a 
greater than Solomon is here." 

" T WANT to be a Sister of Charity," said Grace, 

J- impulsively. " Here I am at home, doing 
practically nothing. I get up in the morning, have 
breakfast, water the flowers, play on the piano, 
write letters, have lunch, go for a walk, receive a 
few callers, dine, spend the evening in some pleas- 
ant way, and then go to bed. It 's all very nice> 
but it makes me feel so self-centred. 

" Now, I 've been reading about the Sisters of 
Charity who live in New York. Think how much 
good they do, — now reading to the sick in the hos- 
pitals, now bringing comfort to those poor wretches 
in .the prisons, always bringing help to whomever 
they meet ! That 's the sort of life I should like 
to lead, and if papa will let me, I shall see about 
going next month." 

Her grandmother listened to the outburst, and 
then asked, " Are n't you a little young, Grace ? " 

tc Well, perhaps I am, — a little," answered Grace ; 
"I was eighteen last September. Do they ever 
have such little Sisters of Charity as I ? " 



270 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

"Possibly," replied the old lady, "but I don't 
think I ever heard of any. But I don't know but 
I can think of something that will do as well. By 
the way, Grace, did you ever hear the story of the 
Queen of Sheba ? " 

« Why, yes," replied Grace, " I remember it in a 
vague sort of way. But let's hear it again; do 
you think it would help me at all ? " 

" I don't know," said her grandmother ; " let 's call 
it up and see." 

Some people thought it strange that Grace, who 
was no longer a child, should care to sit quietly hear- 
ing her grandmother tell stories. But if they had 
known them both well, I am quite sure they would 
not have been surprised. For Grace was naturally 
of a most inquiring turn of mind, and was always 
anxious to hear of something new; and as her 
grandmother had travelled a great deal, and seen 
much of the world, she acted, as it were, like an 
oracle, answering Grace's questions on every con- 
ceivable subject. 

And so, when the story of the Queen of Sheba 
was suggested, Grace simply looked upon it as an 
entering wedge to a long conversation with her 
grandmother, — as indeed it was. 

" Solomon, you know, Grace, was a very great 
king in Israel ; and the Bible says that in s the 
first year of his reign the Lord appeared before 
him, and asked him what he desired should be 






BEHOLD, A GREATER THAN SOLOMON IS HERE. 271 

given him. And Solomon answered, that since he 
had such a multitude of subjects, he was specially 
anxious to have wisdom and good judgment, so 
that he could rule over the people as a monarch 
should. And the Lord was pleased with this 
answer; and because Solomon had not asked for 
wealth, or honor, or long life, or the death of his 
enemies, the Lord not only gave him wisdom and 
judgment, but also these benefits which he had not 
asked. And so Solomon became both wise and 
rich; and in the midst of his prosperity he built 
a most magnificent temple to the Lord, which has 
come down through history as Solomon's Temple. 
This structure was built of cedar, and was richly 
ornamented with gold and precious stones. 

" Now there lived in those days a beautiful 
woman who ruled as queen over the land of Sheba. 
This much we know, but where Sheba was, no one 
knows. Some say that it was in Arabia, on the 
shores of the Eed Sea, and some that it was even 
farther to the east, in the heart of Asia ; but as 
for me, I like to think of Sheba as being in the 
country known as Ethiopia. It chanced that this 
queen heard of King Solomon, who was said to be 
the wisest man on earth, and immediately she 
determined to visit him. The account given in the 
Bible is rather short, simply telling us of her com- 
ing to the great palace of Solomon, and of her won- 
der and admiration at his wisdom. But in the old 



272 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

Arabian traditions we hear a rather more detailed 
account of her journey to Jerusalem, and her stay 
at Solomon's court. It seems that Solomon was 
most expert at guessing riddles, and the Queen of 
Sheba, who is spoken of as Balkis, was anxious to 
try him. First she sent two troops of children, one 
of boys dressed like girls, the other of girls dressed 
like boys, to the palace, and Solomon was asked to 
tell at once which were the boys and which the 
girls. Solomon ordered basins of water to be 
brought, and as the troop of children washed them- 
selves, he distinguished the boys from the girls by 
the different manner of washing. Next, Balkis 
sent some wonderful artificial flowers with some 
real ones, and asked Solomon to tell the true ones 
from the others. But Solomon was equal to the 
occasion, and let a swarm of bees rest upon the 
flowers, and it is needless to say that they soon 
found in which flowers the honey lay. Lastly, the 
queen presented Solomon with a diamond, which 
she said must be threaded. Solomon was rather 
nonplussed at first, but soon he bethought himself 
of the silk- worm, which soon found a silken thread 
through the intricate perforations of the diamond. 
The queen was amazed and pleased at Solomon's 
great wisdom, and after presenting him with a 
number of costly gifts, she journeyed back to her 
native land. Some say that she married Solomon, 
and 'lived long and happily, till visited by the 



BEHOLD, A GREATER THAN SOLOMON IS HERE. 273 

terminator of delights and the separator of com- 
panies.' But as to that, I am afraid we have no 
very direct account." 

Here Grace interrupted her grandmother to say, 
"That's a good story, Grandma, and quite inter- 
esting; but somehow I don't see how it applies 
either to me or the Sisters of Charity in New 
York." 

"It does not, directly, my dear," answered her 
grandmother, " but there is a little more to it which 
I have not yet told you. In the New Testament, 
in Matthew, I think, our Saviour speaks of the 
Queen of Sheba, and says, * She came from the 
uttermost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of 
Solomon, and behold, a greater than Solomon is 
here.' And it is here, Grace, that we 've suddenly 
stumbled upon your case. You have an idea that 
the Sisters of Charity in New York are almost the 
only people in the world who are of real use. You 
feel as if you must go there immediately, and be 
one of them, and like them be of help to all in 
distress. Is n't that a pretty fair statement of the 
case ? " 

" Why, yes," said Grace, " that 's about it ; and if 
papa would let me, I'd start to-morrow." 

"Well, I think that between ourselves we can 
find something just as helpful that you can do at 
home. In other words, Grace, it seems to me that 
4 a greater than Solomon is here.' " 

18 



274 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

"If you think I really can be of use here, of 
course I will try ; but somehow I feel as if I could 
do so much more in New York." 

But Grace was persuaded by her grandmother 
not to speak to her father about her scheme, and 
the very next morning she began to see how much 
she could do at home. 

To her mother's rather evident surprise, she was 
down with the rest of the family at breakfast, a 
thing which had not happened for several years, — 
which fact, I regret to say, was rather noisily sug- 
gested by her younger brothers. 

But Grace cared little for this ; she had made up 
her mind to start over again, and if not in New 
York, why not here ? After breakfast she helped 
the boys on with their great-coats, found Tom's 
algebra under the boots in the boot-closet, and un- 
earthed Dick's rubber boots from behind the book- 
case. 

She did her practising, of course, as usual, but 
later in the morning she sat for an hour with the 
baby, while the nurse was away at her uncle's 
funeral. It was really quite amusing to help a 
little, and just before lunch she went into her 
grandmother's room to talk it over. 

" Well, how does everything go on ? " asked her 
grandmother. 

"Why, I think pretty well so far," answered 
Grace, " but somehow it is n't enough. I want 



BEHOLD, A GREATER THAN SOLOMON IS HERE. 275 

something outside, something beyond the mere 
house and family." 

And so the two sat and talked over various plans 
until they hit upon one that seemed to please 
Grace especially. This was the formation and 
carrying on of a little newsboys' club. Grace had 
always liked the little fellows, they were so bright 
and full of life, so eager to be successful, so sad at 
any little reverses. And now here was a chance 
to help them along. Grace made up her mind 
simply to have the boys come together in a room 
where they could play games with each other, or 
with herself and her friends. And then, if matters 
seemed successful, she meant to carry it out farther ; 
perhaps she might form a drawing-class among the 
cleverer boys. 

Her father found her a good room in the heart 
of the city, and one evening, when everything had 
been made ready, — when the games had been pre- 
pared on the tables, the pencils had been sharpened, 
and the most exciting story-books had been placed 
in a row in full sight of the door, — the first troop of 
little fellows was let into the room. Grace felt like 
one of the old Eoman gladiators standing in the 
midst of the arena waiting the appearance of the 
wild beasts. But all these thoughts were soon dis- 
pelled. It is true, the boys had very dirty hands, 
but these were soon washed, and things got run- 
ning very smoothly. Several of Grace's friends had 



276 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

volunteered to come also that evening, and though 
they all shared her feeling of terror at first, it was 
only momentary, and soon they became absorbed in 
playing with the boys. Among other games was 
one called "Telegraph Messenger," which seemed 
to be especially popular. It shows the course that 
a common telegraph boy takes through various 
vicissitudes, until he reaches the presidency of the 
company. Grace was playing with three or four of 
the boys, and the excitement really grew quite 
intense. Now one and now another would forge 
ahead, only to be set back again. Finally, Grace 
was sent to the state-prison, which seemed to 
amuse the little fellows greatly. But as she was 
on the point of moving away from this uncomfort- 
able place, there was heard a terrible crash, and 
Grace looked up just in time to see two small boys 
crawling out from beneath a pile of books, dust, 
and bookcase shelves, which had fallen upon them 
as they were scuffling in trying to take some games 
from a drawer. Grace had everything set right, 
and was about to resume her game, when two or 
three of the younger boys begged her to read aloud 
from a large " Eobinson Crusoe " which they had 
found. And so the evening passed ; the longer it 
lasted, the happier Grace felt, and when they were 
all gone at last, it was really a pleasure to watch 
her as she tripped about, arranging things for next 
time. 



BEHOLD, A GREATER THAN SOLOMON IS HERE. 277 

"I haven't had such a good time since I can 
remember," she said to her father, who had come 
to take her home. " I think I '11 get you to adopt 
Rodie Watson and Jimmy Conly to-morrow." And 
so she talked on all the way home. 

As the winter passed, things went on more and more 
successfully. The boys became neater and cleaner, 
their manners were distinctly better, and judging 
from their skill in playing the various games, their 
brains must have been much quickened. 

At last, one evening in May, the final meeting 
was held. As the little fellows filed out, Grace 
gave each some little present to remember the club 
by, and I really believe she enjoyed doing this 
more than can be imagined. For as each boy 
stepped up to take the little gift, he would look 
up at her with such an expression of kind regard 
and gratitude that she was quite overcome. 

And when next day she sat quietly with her 
grandmother, as if lost in a reverie, she suddenly 
broke out with " Yes, Grandma, I 'm quite sure 
you were right." 

"I've no doubt about that," said the old lady, 
with a smile, " but what do you mean ? " 

"I mean that I might have gone to look for 
Solomon in New York ; but luckily, with your 
help, I found that 'a greater than Solomon is 
here.' " 



Third Sunday in December. 

u Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest 
he fall." 

TOM SWIFT was captain of the Sophomore 
crew at Harvard. For weeks, nay months, 
he had been hard at work with his men, first in the 
gymnasium and then on the river ; and now at last 
had come the day of the class races, which he had 
looked forward to with so much doubt and so much 
hope. 

All that morning he had spent in the boat-house, 
seeing that everything was straight. Jim Hardy's 
outrigger had to be raised a little, and George 
Crocker's sliding-seat needed oiling. And though 
John the boatman was willing to put these things 
in place, Tom wanted to be sure that the boat was 
all right, and so did the work himself. 

As he walked up from the boat-house with 
George Crocker, the two talked together about 
their chances in the race. 

" Did you see '93 out on the river, yesterday ? " 
asked George. 

" Yes," said Tom, " and I tell you, old man, they 
were working in good form. We '11 do pretty well 
if we lay them out." 



280 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

" Well, I don't know," said George ; " it seemed 
to me that their stroke was a little short, and now 
and then they did n't seem to be quite together. If 
they only get a little rattled, I think we '11 come 
out all right." 

" How about the Freshmen ? " asked Tom. 

" Oh, they 're no good at all," replied George. 
« Why, they had a time row the other day, and 
though the water was smooth as a mill-pond, and 
they had the tide with them, they only made the 
two miles in twelve minutes. I guess we need n't 
be afraid of them." And so the two talked over 
their chances, until they reached Harvard Square, 
when Tom went up to his room in Holyoke. 

Tom was a '95 man, — that is to say, in 1895 he 
would graduate from the college, — and was one of 
the most popular fellows in his class. Though only 
nineteen years old, he seemed very large and strong. 
One would hardly have called him handsome, but 
there was a certain manliness about him, a straight- 
forward and honest look about his eyes, that made 
him very attractive, especially to fellows of his 
own age. Though Tom was a pretty hard-working 
student, just at present his entire mind was given 
to his crew and the approaching race, and conse- 
quently his recitation "cuts " had increased in an 
alarming way. 

Tom had started in with his crew under pretty 
poor auspices. Only two of last year's eight, be- 



TAKE HEED LEST YE FALL. 281 

sides himself, had consented to row, and the rest 
were new men who had never sat in a boat before. 
But this had not discouraged him, and he had 
trained his crew so untiringly that they were really 
in excellent trim. And now at last had come the 
day of the races. 

The afternoon was perfect, the tide was just on 
the turn, and the wind, which had been quite strong 
in the morning, seemed to have blown itself out. 
The start was just below the Longwood bridge ; and 
long before four o'clock, which was the hour for the 
races, crowds of people had begun to gather upon 
the shore of the river. As the boats drew into line, 
the sight was really one to be remembered. Five 
or six tugboats, filled with college boys, and gay 
with flags and streamers, lay puffing lazily beside 
the bridge, and on every side the river was dotted 
with little boats filled with excited small boys. An 
old coal-barge, moored at a neighboring wharf, 
seemed to be watching the proceedings with wonder, 
and from the bridge, where some repairs were going 
on, the tired laborers, who had stopped their work 
for the time being, looked down upon the gay scene 
with the greatest interest. 

In all this bustle and confusion Tom was talking 
quietly to his crew, warning each to be careful 
about his faults, and encouraging all to do their 
best. But a moment later, at a signal from the 
referee's tug, there was a change. A sudden quiet 



282 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

fell all around, and every eye was fastened upon the 
muscular and determined young fellows who had 
come forward to the full reach and were waiting 
for the word. At last came the referee's strong 
voice, " Gentlemen, are you ready ? " — and then, at 
the crack of his rifle, up go thirty-two strong backs, 
and they are off. Surely this is an exciting mo- 
ment, — before all the shining expanse of water, 
next the four slender shells, then the shrieking 
tugs with their crowds of students, and behind all 
again the shining expanse of river. 

But above the din of the whistles and the shouts 
of the excited college boys rose the shrill voices of 
the coxswains urging on their straining crews. 

" Now, boys, all together ! Take her up for 
twenty strokes, — one, two, three, — pull her 
through now, all together, — that's good, boys, — 
we're passing '94! Take her along! Sweep her 
along, boys," and so on, while the crews with de- 
termined faces and set teeth bend to their work. 

'93 is in the lead, with the Freshmen close be- 
hind, while '95, Tom's crew, brings up the rear, 
neck-and-neck with the Juniors. Down the river 
they go, past the Crescent boat-house, past the 
gloomy sluice-way, through the wide gaping arches 
of the bridge, on and on, — and still the Seniors 
leading. But as the crews come nearer and nearer 
the Beacon Street wall there is a shout from '95's 
tug, excited Sophomores jump about embracing 



TAKE HEED LEST YE FALL. 283 

each other and waving hats, and shrieking incoher- 
ent cheers and words of encouragement to their 
crew, which seems to have swept suddenly away 
from the struggling Juniors. Little by little they 
creep up to the leading crews. Now they are even 
with the Freshmen, — on and on, by Hereford, 
Gloucester, and Fairfield streets. 

" We 're gaining, boys ! " shouts Tom's coxswain ; 
" we 're gaining ! Now all together, — take her 
along, boys, — that's good. Sweep her along, — 
they 're going to pieces, — only a little more, — 
now all together ! We 're passing them, — we 're 
almost there, — take her up, boys, — steady, steady," 
— and with the shrieking of whistles and shouts 
and shrieks from thousands of throats, '95 sweeps 
over the line half a length ahead. 

Almost a year has passed, and again it is the 
time of the class races. Tom has been quite a hero, 
and, always a favorite, has become more and more 
popular. His victory of last spring was followed 
by a succession of congratulatory dinners and theatre 
parties, and, all in all, the year had passed very 
pleasantly for him. Immediately after Class Day 
he sailed for Europe, where he was to join his 
family, who had sailed several months before. On 
the steamer he met a number of other college fel- 
lows, and as the weather was very mild, the trip 
across was delightful. Among the passengers was 



284 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

an old Harvard man who was very attractive to the 
younger boys, and Tom especially was fond of 
walking the deck with him, and discussing college 
matters. 

" Did you ever row at Cambridge ? " he asked of 
his companion one day. 

" Oh, yes," said Mr. Grant, for that was his name. 
" Oh, yes, I rowed in the '85 crew that beat Yale so 
badly ; and I tell you rowing is the best exercise a 
man can take. I 've been out of college nine years 
now, but whenever I watch a boat-race I have the 
same enthusiasm that I felt when I was a Fresh- 
man. Are you an oarsman too, Tom ? " 

" Well, I 've rowed for two years," replied Tom ; 
and with some pride he recounted the story of how 
he trained his men and finally won the class races. 

Mr. Grant listened with evident pleasure, and 
complimented Tom upon the plucky way in which 
he had shaken his crew together. 

" Shall you row again next year ? " he asked. 

" Why, yes, I guess so," replied Tom ; " but, to 
tell the truth, I had n't thought about it yet." 

" Well, if you do," continued his friend, " be very 
careful not to be over-confident. I 've known crew 
after crew to win the class races, and then lose the 
following year simply through over-confidence." 

" How do you mean ? " asked Tom. 

" In the first place, when one wins a race, there 
is always a certain feeling that it would be the 



TAKE HEED LEST YE FALL. 285 

simplest thing in the world to do it again, no matter 
what happened, or how much time had gone by. 
Then, too, winning crews are always made very 
much of by their class-fellows, who never tire of 
proving to them that they are by far the best eight 
that ever sat in a boat ; and though this is very 
pleasant, it seldom gives a crew more speed when 
the time of the race comes on. Finally, when the 
boys get down to the river in the spring, if they 
happen to have won the year before, they look upon 
the rowing more as play than as good solid work 
which they must do well in order to succeed, and 
consequently as the days pass by they do not im- 
prove as they should. So, Tom, be careful not to 
be too confident, and perhaps you 11 win next spring 
as well." 

Tom promised to be very careful, and the subject 
was dropped, never, I regret to say, to come into 
his mind again. 

Tom spent several weeks in England, visiting the 
various places of interest, and then took a short 
walking-tour through Scotland with his friend 
George Crocker, whom he had met in London. 
Next, Tom crossed to Norway, and travelled south- 
ward, finally meeting his family in Dresden. 
The rest of the summer passed very quickly, and 
it was not till the end of September that Tom 
was forced to tear himself away and return to 
college. 



286 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOEIES. 

The autumn and winter were perhaps rather un- 
eventful ; but now, as was said above, it was again 
the eve of the class races. Tom was still captain, and 
he had all his old crew. They were bigger, too, than 
they were twelve months before, and all seemed to 
feel practically sure of winning. In fact, they had 
formed a habit of giving up their afternoon row on 
a rainy day, and again and again Tom would ex- 
cuse this or that man who " wanted just this day 
off." But suddenly his feeling of confidence seemed 
to be fading away. The Seniors had made the 
course in very nearly nine minutes, and the Fresh- 
men were rowing wonderfully for a new crew. But 
still Tom hoped for the best, and tried to encourage 
himself by assuring his friends that "they'd got to 
win." But, alas I they did not win. After the first 
mile they were hopelessly out of the race, and as 
they struggled in at the finish they were greeted by 
the wild cheers of the Freshmen, whose crew had 
beaten the Seniors and had won by a clear length 
of open water. A few sympathetic classmen raised 
a feeble cheer as Tom and his crew drew up at the 
boat-house float ; but somehow there was no en- 
thusiasm in their voices, for it was but too evident 
that there was nothing to be enthusiastic about. 

Tom could not bear to be in Cambridge that 
evening, and so determined to go for the night to 
his home in Boston. So home he went, and as he 
passed the nursery door on his way to his room, he 



TAKE HEED LEST YE FALL. 287 

heard his mother reading to the children. Tom 
stopped at the door to listen while his mother read : 
" The hare and the tortoise had decided to have a 
race. The hare, of course, soon left the tortoise far 
behind, but as the day was warm, she thought she 
would take a little nap. While she slept, however, 
the tortoise walked on steadily, and won the race 
with ease." 



Fourth Sunday in December. 
" Let us heai' the conclusion of the whole matter." 

" r I ^HE conclusion of the whole matter," said 

JL Frank Taylor to some other boys, as they 
were coming home from quite a long walk, in 
which the conversation had been a little serious, 
" the conclusion of the whole matter is, ' Fear God 
and keep His commandments. ' I have got that 
printed on a card at home ; that is the whole duty 
of man." 

"Mr. Stratton made that out very well in our 
class in Sunday-school," said Harold, "when we 
had the lesson in September. Don't you remem- 
ber how the fellows got talking about the strong 
battalions ? " 

Frank Taylor was interested in this, and said, 
" Why, what had battalions to do with a Sunday- 
school lesson ? " 

"Oh, it was that lesson," said Harold, "'If God 
be for us, who can be against us ? ' Some fellow — 
I guess it was Will Craft — quoted Napoleon, or 
somebody, who said that God was on the side of 
the strongest battalions." 

" Well, what came of it all ? " said Frank. 

19 



290 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

"Why, the lesson meant to come out, and I 
think we did come out, pretty fairly, on saying that 
there were many kinds of strength," said Jack. 
" It is moral, strength, or religious strength, if you 
choose to call it so, which tells." 

" All the same," said Frank, " if you will look 
back to your history, you will see that war had to 
settle most things then, and certainly in war it is 
the strongest battalions that win." 

" You say ' then ; ' when do you mean ? " asked 
Harold. 

" Oh, I mean the old Eoman times and the old 
Greek times ; that is old enough." 

« Why not go back farther, and say the old 
Hebrew times ? " said Harold. 

Frank laughed, and said, " Because I don't know 
much about them." 

" Well, I wish you had heard Mr. Stratton talk 
to us about David's strength. He says that David's 
strength came from the Lord, and did n't come from 
battalions. You know he was only a boy. He 
offered himself to Saul to fight against the enemy, 
but Saul said to him, ' You are only a boy ; what 
can you do against this great Philistine ? ' ' 

" It is all told better in the Bible," said Harold. " It 
is just as interesting there as it can be anywhere." 

" But do let Joe tell us about it," said one of the 
other boys. "I heard him read it, but I should 
like to hear it all over again." 



THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 291 

" And I was n't there," said Frank, " so let Joe 
do the talking." 

" Well, Saul said, just as you would," continued 
Joe, " ' How can you fight this strong man who has 
been fighting ever since he was a boy, and you 
are nothing but a boy ? ' Then David told the 
story, — but perhaps you would n't care to hear 
that ? " 

" Yes, tell that," said one of the older boys. 
" Frank is in the dark, and wants to know what 
they did in the old times." 

So Joe told the story of David and the sheep, 
and the lion, and the she- bear. 

" And that is what he told Saul, and he said to 
Saul that he could whip the Philistine in just the 
same way; but what he said was that the Lord, 
who had delivered him from the lion and the bear, 
would deliver him from the Philistine." 

" I remember that," said Frank. " But what did 
Saul say ? " 

" He told David he might go to the battle," con- 
tinued Joe ; " only he wanted David to put on 
some of his armor." 

" Oh, now we come to the armor," said Frank, 
with some interest. "You see that they used 
armor, though they had all this faith you talk of." 

" Don't brag till you are out of the woods," said 
Harold. " You must n't stay away from Sunday- 
school if you want to be posted on what has really 



292 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

happened in the history of the older times. Joe 
had better go on." 

" Yes, let us have the whole/' said the other boys. 

"Well, I can't tell it all, because he described 
how Saul's army was on the slope of a ravine, — 
where the hills come down, you know, — and how, 
generally, it is by a brook, and here there was a 
stream, you know, but it was dry ; but there was 
a great tree there." 

" Tell how David came into the camp," said 
Harold. 

" He came just to see what was going on, like 
any other boy," said Joe. " Because there were 
these two great armies, and it was all very brilliant 
and stirring. The men were all in this armor that 
Frank tells about. Then, too, David's older broth- 
ers were there, and his father had given him some 
bread and some cheese to take to them. And he 
carried this to the wagons that were drawn up all 
around the camp to defend it, just as they do now 
in Texas, or any place where they camp for the 
night—" 

" Go on," said Frank. " Don't stop about Texas." 

" Well, David left his loaves and the cheeses 
with the baggage-master, and I suppose then he 
might have gone home ; for his older brothers 
scolded him for coming, and told him he had only 
come down to see the army; but he went on asking 
about it, and so he heard about this great giant 



THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 293 

Philistine. They told how he was of a family of 
giants, and there were not many of them left ; but 
that only made David more anxious to find him." 

" I know about that," said Frank ; " but what 
I don't know is about the armor. What did he do 
about the armor ? " 

" Why, Saul put on him a coat of mail, and a 
helmet of brass on his head, and David took the 
sword ; but then he said, ' I can't fight with these 
things. I have n't ever tried them.' So he took 
them all off, and took his staff, and he picked up 
five pebbles out of the bed of the brook, and put 
them in a shepherd's pocket that he had, and he 
took his sling in his hand and went to meet the 
Philistine." 

" Oh, I remember all that," said Prank ; " only 
somehow I never thought of him as a boy; I 
always thought of him as King David." 

" The giant thought he was nothing but a boy," 
Joe went on. "He did not think he was King 
David. And the giant sneered at him, and said 
he would give his flesh to the fowls of the air and 
the beasts of the field." 

"Well, how did David stand that?" asked 
Frank. 

" David said the Lord had delivered Goliath into 
his hands, and the fowls of the air and the beasts 
of the field should feed on the bodies of the Philis- 
tines. ' The battle is the Lord's,' he said ; and so 



294 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

it proved, you know. You remember how he flung 
the stone from his sling when he went to meet the 
Philistine, and Goliath fell with his face on the 
ground. And then David had no sword, you re- 
member ; he had to take the giant's sword to cut 
off the giant's head. And then all the Philistines 
ran away." 

" There, you see it was n't the armor, or even 
the sword, that helped him ; it was his own belief 
that God would help him because he was in the 
right." 

"It was all so long ago," said Frank, "that it 
does n't seem to me to make much difference. It 
is a fine piece of poetry, and all that ; but for my 
part, I should be glad to have the protection of my 
own sword." 

" But swords and armor both are very old-fash- 
ioned and poetical now," said one of the other boys. 
" You have to go to the Museum to see what the 
armor used to be, and men don't carry swords in 
the streets now. And my Cousin Nathan told me 
that swords are only for show in the army, — no- 
body ever killed anybody with a sword. For my 
part, I am glad it is all gone out of fashion; I 
should n't like to have to wear those heavy things 
all the time." 

" And don't you see," said Harold, " that it is 
just because such people as David and a host of 
others have showed the world that it is not armor 



THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 295 

and swords that do the business, — don't you see that 
is the reason we can walk round nowadays without 
any shields or means of defence ? " 

" It is just as new as it is old," said one of the 
other boys ; " and that is what old Stratton told us. 
I know there was some text he wanted us to re- 
member, — 1 11 tell you what it was ; it was the 
text we had that day when the Japanese man 
came and made the general address, — * If God be 
for us, who can be against us ? ' That was the 
text." 

" That is what the world has been learning all 
this time," said Harold. "Here we are defended 
in our homes, little children go from one end of 
the world to the other, and there is always some 
one to take care of them, — it is all because we are 
children of one Father who takes care of us all ; and 
so you come around to what we were sajdng, — if 
you ' fear God and keep His commandments,' every- 
thing goes right." 

'•' The giants seem to have died out," said Frank. 

" That kind of giant has died out," said Harold, 
"and the' good-natured old giants of the stories. 
We don't see that kind of giants, but I suppose 
there are some pretty big giants, and we have 
to have our fights with them, just as those boys 
did." 

" In one way, of course, it is easier," said one of 
the boys. " Everything is made very easy for us on 



296 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

the outside. It seems sometimes as if we had only 
to choose among the many things we would like to 
do, and as if there was no fighting left for us." 

" I know it," said Frank. " I don't see where 
these concealed giants are that you talk about." 

" If I could write a new Pilgrim's Progress, you 
would see. There 's Giant What-Will- Other-Peo- 
ple- Say- About-It. He is a dreadful giant, — Giant 
Other-People you might call him for short. You 
don't ever seem to see him, and yet everybody is 
afraid of him, and trying to do what he says." 

" You mean me," said Frank, as all the other 
boys were joining in a laugh. "Well, I suppose 
I do stop to think what other people will say." 

" It is not the worst kind of a fault," said Jack ; 
" if you want to find the right side, it is not a bad 
plan to inquire about and think what other people 
have to say about it." 

" In these days," said Harold, " the voice of the 
community says a great many wise things. c Vox 
populi, vox dei ' is a very old saying, and I guess 
there is something in it. And you are right in 
saying that in all this progress we make it is wise 
to think what other people have to say about it. 
But, all the same, Giant Other-People is a giant to 
be fought against, because we want to fight for the 
Kingdom of God, and we are not to be led by the 
praise or the blame of the people about us. I know 
a man came over from Sutton, and preached a ser- 



THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 297 

mon at our church about c They loved the praise of 
men more than the praise of God.' I don't remem- 
ber a word he said except the text. If David had 
listened only to his brothers, he would have left the 
camp and gone back to his sheep, and perhaps we 
should be living in a world now that was all full 
of giants, and armor, and fighting. Because that 
boy fought that giant, the world has gone on 
improving." » 

" There were ever so many Americans," said Jack, 
" at the time of the Eevolution, who had no idea 
what was to come out of all the fighting then. 
They thought it was foolish and silly to contend 
against King George and Old England, and all that, 
and many of them went home, as they called it, — 
they went to their sheep. How little they knew 
what this country was coming to ! " 

" How lucky it was the leaders did n't listen to 
them," said Harold, " the Giant Other-People of 
their day ! We should n't have had any country 
if the leading men had thought that way. They 
did n't stop to think of their want of armor or 
ammunition. They just started out to ' fear God 
and keep His commandments.' " 

"All the same," said one of the other boys, "just 
because we do not see the giants and because the 
things we are fighting for do not look so grand, 
it is hard to keep up the enthusiasm. It is not 
like rushing forth to the contest, as David did." 



298 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" I don't know," said Harold, " I think boys have 
to show pluck nowadays. It is this Giant Other- 
People wanting you to do things that are not quite 
right. And now Joe has left us, I want to tell 
how I thought he showed the other day what a 
brave little fellow he was." 

" There was one day he got called up before all 
the school," said Jack. 

" He went up of his own accord," said Harold. 
" He had got into some trouble downstairs. He 
and some of the smaller boys went into one of the 
lower rooms where a lot of desks had been piled 
up, and climbing over them they knocked them all 
down and spilled a lot of ink. And not only that, 
— they left them in such a rickety state, that when 
the old janitor went in afterward, they tumbled 
over his head, and hurt him badly." 

" Oh, I heard about it," said Frank. " They say 
his skull was fractured." 

" Nothing more than a bump," said Harold ; " but 
of course there was a great talk about it. Joe hap- 
pened to be out of the way when it all came up, 
and I don't suppose he was much to blame, except 
that he was older than the other boys — " 

" I know about it," said Jack. " When he heard 
the other boys had been blamed, he just walked 
up to the master before all the school, and said it 
was all his fault, and he ought to be punished 
for it." 



THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER. 299 

" Yes, that was all right," said Harold ; " and Joe 
told me afterward that he did n't mind that at all ; 
that, as he had been such an idiot as to get into 
the scrape, he was not going to be worse than an 
idiot and crawl out of it without being punished. 
But he had on that day some old clothes that had 
belonged to his older brother that did not fit him, 
and he knew all the boys would be looking at him, 
and he had been keeping out of the way, because 
he hated to be seen. And now he would have to 
walk all the way up to the master's desk, in the 
face and eyes of the whole school. Then he said 
he was so ashamed of his ridiculous fear that it 
made him quite brave again." 

" I remember I thought he looked as handsome 
as a hero," said Jack, " because he told it all so 
simply, and took the blame on himself." 

" He lost ever so many marks," said Harold ; 
" but I think the teachers are all more fond of him 
than ever." 

" I understand what you mean now," said Frank. 
" Our enemies are all sneaks nowadays, and we 
don't see what is leading us to do wrong, as in 
the days when the wrong side was represented by 
a giant." 

" Yes ; for instance," said Harold, " we talk about 
the Giant Intemperance, but we shall not do much 
to oppose him, if we think of it all as represented 
by one big giant. The temptation will come to us 



300 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

in the shape of a friend's voice, perhaps, in the 
fear of what other people will say if we say ' no/ 
But all the same we have to remember, when any 
fellow asks us to drink, to ' fear God and keep 
His commandments, for that is the whole duty of 



The Last Sunday in the Year. 

WISH I could be somebody else just for a 

■J- change," said Barbara Wyatt, putting down 
her candle and giving one of her bronzed slippers 
an impatient kick across the floor. 

" What is the matter now, dear ? " asked her older 
sister, whose room she shared. 

" It 's that horrid dancing-school ! It gets w r orse 
and worse every time. None of the boys like to 
dance with me, and I can never think of anything 
to say to them when they do. Frances, you can't 
think how trying it is to be plain, and five feet five 
inches tall when you are only fourteen years old, 
and to have a thin wisp of hair, and a mother who 
does n't approve of bangs. Oh, dear ! I would 
like to change my face and my figure and my 
character and everything about me, especially my 
feet. I don't like to wear number five-and-a-half 
boots." 

Frances was a little deaf; so Barbara shouted 
out her complaints in louder and louder tones, fairly 
screaming the last sentence. 

" Why don't you wear sixes, then ? " said her 
brother, who was passing outside the door. 



302 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" That is just like Geoffry ; he never appreciates 
my trials. You do, you dear thing! You never 
preach, like Mamma, nor laugh at me, like Geoffry, 
nor say, like Papa, ' Be thankful, Barbara, that you 
have not lost one of your arms, like poor old Michael 
O'Brien.' It does n't make it any easier for me to 
have thin, ugly arms, because Michael has but one. 
What does he have to do with it, any way ? I 'm 
not comparing myself with unfortunate people like 
that, but with happy ones. How I wish I were 
Evelyn Cox ! When I see her dancing all the even- 
ing with Arthur Kent, and he does n't come near 
me, and I know I 'm just as good as she, and a great 
deal brighter, only stupidly shy, and hideously 
plain, — then I think I would give anything in 
the world to have her graceful way, and lovely 
fair hair and blue eyes. How she can look at 
one out of those eyes of hers S But now if I 
were to look like that," — Barbara tried it, and the 
result was so funny that her sister laughed heartily. 
Frances became serious in a minute, however. 

" It is hard to be plain," she said ; " there is no 
getting away from that fact. It is much nicer to 
be pretty, in spite of all the wise maxims; but 
those of us who don't have the best have to learn 
to adjust ourselves to circumstances and make the 
most of what we have. Nobody can teach us this ; 
we have to struggle on until we find it out for 
ourselves." 



THE EXCHANGE OFFICE. 303 

Something in Frances's tone struck Barbara. It 
suddenly occurred to her that her charming sister 
was quite as plain as she ; and then she was deaf 
besides. Frances, however, was so delightful 
that no one minded these things in connection 
with her. 

" I saw a funny sign on a queer little shop the 
other day when I was in Boston, — ' Wanted, left- 
off teeth and second-hand clothes ! Articles 
swapped/ I should like to have gone in there 
and changed all my features and traits for those 
of somebody else." 

Barbara had said this in a sleepy voice, for she 
had taken her place in bed by Frances's side. 
Presently, she could not tell how it happened, she 
was walking past the " Exchange Office," and was 
surprised to find a new sign hanging there, — 
" Characters, features, and circumstances swapped," 
she read. She went eagerly in and said to the 
rough man who tended the counter, — 

" I want light hair, please, and a small, slight 
figure ; and — oh, yes — I especially want little 
feet. Two and a half or three I think will be the 
right number." 

" We can't give you but two feet, Miss," inter- 
posed the clerk. 

Barbara, who was always impatient of jokes un- 
less she made them herself, paid no attention to 
this sally, but continued her list: — 



304 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

" I want the kind of blue eyes that look out 
under long lashes, — so, — without making me 
look like a fool, a lively manner, and the trick of 
saying foolish things so that they seem wise. I 
will keep my circumstances just as they are, only 
I should like some new dresses. I don't want to 
change my family at all, except my brother Geof- 
%. I — " 

" Not so fast," said the man ; " you can't fix things 
that way. You Ve got to make a clean swap, and 
be in somebody else's shoes for a while, instead of 
your own." 

" What a vulgar person ! " thought Barbara ; 
" and yet it will be pleasant to be literally in some- 
body else's shoes." 

" "Whom would you like to change with ? " he 
asked. 

" Evelyn Cox," she replied promptly. " Only I 
don't like her last name, nor her cross sister Julia. 
They are always quarrelling. Geoffry says they 
live like fighting cocks. That boy's puns get worse 
and worse every day ; it will be good to have a rest 
from him. I can have Frances instead of Julia, of 
course ? " 

" Certainly not ; you 've got to go the whole figure, 
and take Evelyn's family along with her good looks." 

Barbara hesitated. Mrs. Cox was a kindly but 
somewhat unrefined person, and Julia a peevish 
invalid ; but then one would bear a great deal for 



THE EXCHANGE OFFICE. 305 

the sake of being so pretty ; besides, there was 
Arthur Kent, who would be devoted to her if she 
were Evelyn. The thought of him turned the 
scale. 

" We only swap characters for twenty-four hours 
at a time," said the clerk ; " but if you like being 
Evelyn, I will put your name down for some more 
days." 

The first thing that Barbara was conscious of, 
after the change was made and she was sitting in 
the Coxes' gaudy parlor, was a curious sense of lim- 
itation. The present had suddenly become tame 
and stupid, and there was nothing interestingly 
suggestive about the future. She had a stifled feel- 
ing, which made her hastily push up the window. 

She looked across the undulating meadows to the 
distant river. This surely could not be the same 
view that gave her such keen pleasure at home ! 
What was there to interest one in a cow-pasture, 
and a bit of water and a few trees ! She picked up 
" Ivanhoe," and wondered how she ever could have 
been so excited over such a prosy book. What did 
she care how it ended ! 

She still had enough of her old self left dimly 
to realize that something had gone out of her life 
which had once given it all its zest ; but perhaps 
it would be different when the evening came, for it 
was dancing-school night. 
20 



306 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

By that time she had become so accustomed to 
being Evelyn Cox, that she felt no surprise 
when she saw how unattractive Arthur Kent 
looked. 

" Tiresome boy ! I suppose he is going to stick 
to me like a burr, as usual," she thought. 

" There is that poor Barbara Wyatt alone over 
in the corner," she observed to him presently ; 
" how horrid it must be to be a wall-flower ! " 

" Perhaps I ought to dance the Lanciers with 
her," he said. 

" Oh ! never mind about her, she does n't like 
to dance ; " for although Arthur Kent was an ugly, 
awkward boy, it was pleasanter to talk to him 
than to nobody, handsome Geoffry Wyatt being 
engrossed with Marian Grey. 

A slight consciousness of her old self came to 
Barbara at this moment, and she was surprised 
to see how fascinating her brother looked when 
seen with Evelyn's eyes. " I wonder if we all 
want what we can't get," she thought. 

The evening had been a failure, there was no 
doubt about that; for Marian had danced even 
more than she, and, worst of all, Geoffry Wyatt 
had not been near her once. 

" Oh, dear ! " she sighed, " I wish I were Marian 
Grey ! What 's the use in having golden hair and 
blue eyes, and the prettiest dress in the room, if 
people would rather talk to a girl like her ? Every- 



THE EXCHANGE OFFICE. 307 

body likes her in spite of her clothes, and she 
always has a good time everywhere. 

"Well, I have mother and Frances to sympa- 
thize with me," she thought ; " but no, I have n't 
either. I wonder whether Mrs. Cox — mother, I 
mean — and Julia will be up when I get back. I 
wish my sister went to dancing-school with me 
like Barbara Wyattfs, and that I had such a de- 
lightful brother. Oh, I 'm getting all mixed up, 
and forgetting who I am, any way ! " 

She found Mrs. Cox awaiting her in the parlor. 

" Well, Evelyn, for the land's sake, if you have n't 
torn your silk dress ! " 

" I wish you would n't use such expressions, 
mother ; Mrs. Wyatt does n't," she said crossly. 

" Evelyn," called out Julia, " can't you make less 
noise coming upstairs ? You 've waked me up, and 
I sha' n't sleep a wink all night." 

" It was a failure," said Barbara, frankly, when 
she returned to the Exchange Office. " I would 
rather be myself than Evelyn, plain and awkward 
as I am. But I should like to be Marian Grey ; 
she is lovely to look at, and as sweet as she can 
be. I am sure she is always happy, for she has 
everything to make her so, and she never looks 
discontented like Evelyn.". 

" I will take down your application," said the 
man ; " but you 've got to be your sister Frances 



308 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORIES. 

first. She came in just after you went out, and 
asked to change with you. We takes 'em in their 
order." 

" But I don't want to be Frances ; I don't want 
to be twenty-three years old, and deaf ! " 

" You 've just got to try it," said the man. " It 's 
a poor rule that don't work both ways ; and if you 
want to be other folks, you can't be surprised that 
other folks want to be you." 

" No," admitted Barbara, " I suppose I can't." 

Nevertheless, the idea of being Frances was 
appalling to her; for although no one was so 
sympathetic and delightful as her sister, she had 
a hard time. 

" I shall have to do all the family mending, and 
go to market, and I don't know anything about 
marketing. I once asked for a spring chicken in 
March, and when it came it was so tough we 
could n't eat it. Geoffry called it ' the last hen 
of summer.' Speaking of Geoffry, I shall have 
to help him with his Latin, and I don't know half 
as much as he does ; however, if I am Frances I 
suppose I shall have her knowledge too. But 
worst of all, I shall have to fit my sister Barbara's 
dresses and keep her things in order, and she will 
interrupt me twenty times a day to tell me about 
her troubles ; and I shall have to see that she 
does her practising. Oh, my poor sister Frances, 
what a life that wretch leads you ! " 



THE EXCHANGE OFFICE. 309 

When Barbara was enveloped in Frances's per- 
sonality, she found to her surprise that she felt a 
sudden sense of expansion. The world seemed to 
have put on an added touch of loveliness; her 
favorite books had a deeper significance, so that she 
felt as if she were reading between the lines ; and 
all the trials of her youth seemed so childish in the 
face of her new experience, that she wondered how 
Frances could have borne with her so patiently in 
the old days. It was not that life had grown easier, 
but that she no longer minded its being hard ; and 
the deafness to which she had looked forward with 
such dread seemed to be what had opened her mind 
to the new meaning she saw in everything. " It 
is that which makes me so sorry for everybody who 
has suffered in any way," she thought. 

" Now I can be Marian Grey," said Barbara, 
when she had returned once more to the Ex- 
change Office. " It is much nicer to be Frances 
than I expected, but Marian is just as lovely as 
she, and has an easier time." 

"There is one more application before yours,'* 
returned the clerk. " It is from Michael O'Brien, 
the man with only one arm." 

" Oh ! " said the girl quickly, " I can't stand 
that ; we must draw the line somewhere. I would 
rather never be Marian Grey if I have to be that 
man first. I would rather — " 



310 SUNDAY-SCHOOL STOKIES. 

" But you must try it," said the inexorable clerk. 

"I can't! I can't! I can't!" 

She ran out of the Exchange Office, and looking 
back she saw him in hot pursuit. He came nearer 
and nearer. He took her by the shoulder and gave 
her a rough shake. She screamed. 

" Wake up, dear ! " said her sister Frances. " Oh, 
I am sorry I frightened you." 

"I've had the strangest dream," said Barbara, 
rubbing her eyes and slowly coming to herself. 
"I'm so thankful I haven't got to be that one- 
armed man. Poor thing ! I never felt half sorry 
enough for him before. But I should have liked 
to be Marian Grey ! I never can get over it that 
I did n't have a chance to see how things look to 
her. However, as you said last night, Frances, 
those of us who don't have the best, have just got 
to make the best of what we have." 



THE END. 



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